Biggles in Deep Water
by Akseel
Summary: Co-written with a friend. Top secret documents have been stolen, and who better to retrieve them than Biggles and co ? Unfortunately, as they will soon find out, they cannot always plan for every contingency...
1. Taking Flight

**A/N** : Just a quick note to say that this was written together with a friend of mine, and is as much her story as it is mine - her knowledge about planes and flying was invaluable. We each wrote about half the story and our writing styles are merged in every single chapter. If you can't tell who wrote what, all the better.

This story was written for fun, and kind of sprang to life unbidden. We've had a great time writing it, but because we wrote as we felt and did not really agree on a storyline beforehand, it ended up being something of a patchwork. Although this story has been heavily edited, there may still remain some inconsistencies. Some have been left on purpose, because fixing them would require extensive rewriting and we felt it just was not worth it. We hope you have fun reading it. Reviews are very welcome, as well as constructive criticism.

Finally, those of you familiar with certain Belgian comics might recognize a few references here and there. Special thanks to E.P. Jacobs.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

The flame of the lighter flickered as Biggles lit his cigarette, dragged in a long whiff of smoke, and let it out a few seconds later. He had been waiting for a while already, and though he was not of an impatient nature, he was surprised that the usually punctual Air Commodore Raymond would run late. For the third time in ten minutes, he checked his watch. A quarter to three ; his appointment had been at half past two.

The sound of a creaking door made him look up, and a smile lightened his features.

«Ah, Biggles, there you are,» said Raymond. «Come in.» He looked tired, with dark rings around his eyes, as though he had not slept at all the past night. Biggles' interest was immediately kindled.

«Good afternoon, sir.»

«Sorry for making you wait,» Raymond added with a small grimace. «I was dealing with something important. But, sit down, and I'll tell you all about it.»

Biggles slid his lithe frame in the armchair facing the Air Commodore's desk and waited patiently for the promised explanation. Raymond sat in front of him and wearily rubbed his forehead.

«Are you ready to leave soon?» he asked by way of a conversation opener.

«I think so, sir,» said Biggles, not batting an eyelid at this rather abrupt beginning, «although I should like to know where you want to send us. If it is far, there will be some formalities to take care of.»

«Far?» Raymond tittered uncharacteristically. «Yes, you could say that. Have you ever been to the New Hebrides?»

Biggles frowned slightly. «I don't think so, sir. The closest we've been to that part of the world is Australia.»

«Well, that will be a good occasion for you to visit, then...» Raymond shook his head, and his face became very serious. «I am speaking very lightly of it, but this affair is really quite a bother. Does the name of Philip Mortimer ring a bell?»

Biggles had to think for a moment before he was able to give an answer. «I think I've heard it before,» he said, his brow crinkled in his effort to remember. «He is some sort of scientist, right?»

«Quite. In fact, he is one of our very best scientists. His works concern not only theoretical physics, but have also real applications. But most importantly, he is an engineer. In fact, he is the one who almost single-handedly designed one of our most recent and deadliest weapons. You may have heard of it by its codename... Espadon.»

«I think I read about it in the newspapers. I didn't pay it much attention at the time.»

Raymond leant back in his chair, and nodded gravely. «Yes, there was a leak at the highest level, and we are still trying to tidy it up... but that is not what this is all about. Our problem is that now, everyone knows about the Espadon. There was an attempt already to capture it, brilliantly thwarted by an officer of the MI-6, Captain Francis Blake, and we thought we were safe... until we discovered that the schematics were stolen. By whom, we have no idea. Whoever was behind this did a very good job.»

Biggles had been listening attentively to the explanation, while he finished his cigarette and stubbed it out in the ashtray on the Air Commodore's desk.

«Well,» he said when Raymond fell silent, «it all sounds quite grim, but I don't really see what part I should play in this affair. I gather this happened some time ago, and if we have no clues at all as to who was responsible for the theft, or the current location of the schematics, I really do not see what I can do about it. Not to mention, by now several copies will have been made.»

«A very valid point. We would have been forced to give up on the whole investigation, if we had not received some new reports recently.»

Biggles crossed his legs and squirmed to find a more comfortable position in his chair. «And this is where the New Hebrides have a part to play, I expect.»

«Precisely.» Raymond stood up and began pacing. «We received words that some... unusual occurrences have been taking place in that vicinity. Here...» he grabbed a photograph on his desk and handed it to Biggles. «This is what one of our agents sent us recently.»

Biggles looked down at the square of paper, but what he saw on it did not make much sense. It was a blur of black and white. After a while, he realized the photograph must have been taken at night, for it was all very dark, with only a cylindrical, greyish spot in the middle of it. Shaking slightly his head, he handed it back to Raymond.

«I'm sorry sir, but as far as I am concerned it might as well be a picture of my aunt Margaret. What exactly am I supposed to be looking at?»

The commodore had a weak smile. «Yes, that's pretty much what I said when I received the photograph. But when I showed it to professor Mortimer, he said it looked a lot like the pictures taken during the experiments he carried out when he built the Espadon.»

Biggles was silent for a moment, thinking. «Then we can assume that we have found the trail of our thieves,» he said slowly. «But why in the New Hebrides? There must be other places where the experiments could have taken place, farther from our prying eyes.»

«Not really... you see, the experiments must take place near the sea and on a deserted spot. There are a number of small atolls that correspond exactly to those specifications. Normally, we should never have found out about it. That photograph I showed you was taken by a mere fluke. To speak plainly, if some of our men did not like fishing in high sea so much, we would never even have heard of these experiments. Furthermore, the New Hebrides have the advantage of being close to Australia... and what do you find in Australia, that could be of use to build a nuclear energy based weapon?»

«Uranium.»

«Precisely.»

Biggles looked serenely at Raymond. «So you want us to go and have a look.»

«As discreetly as possible. We don't want to scare off our birds. The rest is up to you, Bigglesworth.»

«I understand. Is there anything else about this affair, that you have not told me yet?»

Raymond shook his head. «You know as much as I do.»

«And what means do we have at our disposal?»

«Anything you'll need.» The commodore had nervously stopped pacing and was now looking directly at Biggles. «You must realize that the possession of this weapon would be a further step in the escalation of tensions in the world - something that might well be instrumental in the breaking out of a new war. We must do everything, absolutely everything in our power to prevent it.»

Biggles had not lost an ounce of his calm. Knowing what was at stake did nothing to change his determination to do his best, as always.

«Our priority then is to stop these experimentations and get back the schematics, if possible. What about the scientists who may have been working on this project?»

Raymond shook his head. «I will let you determine the best course of action, Bigglesworth. You will be there. Whatever you decide to do, I will back you up. Be careful. If we can know what nation is behind the theft of the schematics, it will already be something - we will know where to look. Of course, we have our suspicions, but it is always better to be certain. If, on top of that, you manage to sabotage the experiments and delay the advance of their scientists, we'll consider your mission a complete success.»

Biggles nodded and stood up. «Very well, sir, I'll get started immediately.»

«Let me know what you need. Whatever it is, you'll have it under twelve hours,» promised the commodore.

«Thank you, sir.» Biggles took his leave, exited the building and stopped a moment to light another cigarette. Then he slowly started walking back to his appartment. Walking helped him think and order his ideas, and he wanted to have a clear head when he told the whole story to Algy, Ginger and Bertie.

* * *

><p>«Hullo Biggles, long meeting?» Ginger bounced up from where he and Bertie had been sitting, playing cards, clearly eager to hear all.<p>

«Raymond was running late.» Biggles returned, shrugging off his coat and hanging it near the door. «I hope you aren't teaching Ginger how to gamble, Bertie.»

Bertie looked horrified, «Not at all- a little flutter on the horses is one thing, but cards! Not with the amount of money flying takes up.» he paused, then asked, «Which reminds me, there will be some flying out of this meeting with Raymond, won't there?»

The question brought a small smile to Biggles' face but all he said was, «Where's Algy? I don't feel like repeating myself.»

«He can't be far away...» Ginger started, «He was here only five minutes ago.»

Biggles frowned but was saved any further talk when the man in question appeared, looking worryingly innocent.

«Sorry! Do I take it Raymond ran late, for once in his life?» he asked, casting Biggles a searching glance and deciding an interesting story was in the offing.

«You do. Now you're here I'll tell you the whole thing, not that there's much to tell.» Briefly, seated on his chair behind his desk, the other three perched on chairs or desk edges, Biggles recounted his visit with Raymond.

«So he wants us to head down and take a dekko?» Algy clarified, easing his leg off the floor and trying, unsuccessfully to balance on the desk.

«He does. As soon as we can, but we can't go running off without some thought of what we might need.» Biggles warning was almost lost in the mirth which ran through the four of them as Algy tumbled, rather ungracefully, floorwards, before catching himself.

«Petrol's the obvious one» Bertie volunteered, as Algy turned side on, the better to position his rump.

«And clothing.» Ginger added, «We can't go around looking like four air policemen, can we? not in the Pacific.» He seemed to relish the idea of shorts and loose shirts, and Bertie groaned.

«You can't expect me to wear one of those awful shirts with the pockets everywhere, can you?»

There followed a heated discussion about loose, largely patterned shirts, and their various uses, broken only when Mrs Symes came through with more tea and biscuits.

«Water. Food. First Aid. Petrol stores, radio...» Algy was still thinking as they ate, Mrs Symes having been warned they'd be away for some time, leaving near the end of the week.

They all nodded and Biggles passed Ginger a list. «Pass that onto Raymond, will you ? Just give him a call once you've finished that.»

Ginger nodded, then asked curiously, «What will you be doing then ?»

«Algy and I are going out.» Biggles declared, suiting actions to words.

* * *

><p>The rest of the afternoon, well into evening, and the next day, they spent in ensuring there were supplies and the appropriate paperwork filled in. It wasn't until 5 that evening that Biggles was satisfied everything was in order.<p>

«We may as well wait until tomorrow to push off.» he decided, over sandwiches the four of them ate huddled around the side table. «No point in starting a journey like this tired.»

Thus in less than 48 hours since Biggles had been summoned, he was behind the stick of the long-range Catalina, Algy watching the ground and skies next to him, Bertie with the back- up maps in the back and Ginger next to the long-range radio, should it be needed. Climbing and levelling out over the channel, he turned south-west and trimmed to his satisfaction.

«Well, at least we got away alright.» he smiled, and Algy nodded, eyes still restless. «Yes, that's one thing to be thankful for.» he agreed.

The majority of the trip - following the well-known route over Europe and so into Asia - passed with little talking, besides the occasional request from Ginger or comment from the other three on some particularly remembered spot.

Their last stop before the pacific- an old English outpost- saw them stop for eight hours while they all tried to get some sleep in the heat and their supplies were restocked. Used to changing time-zones and snatching sleep when they could, the four of them were back in the air the next morning and heading out over the pacific after a very thorough pre-flight check.

«I know we didn't find trouble in England, but it would be silly to take chances now.» Biggles had defended himself, as he'd removed the cowling to peer inside.

None of them had even smiled, merely peering in after him and then replacing it carefully. Their navigation had been double checked, their compass and DI as well, and they settled in for a long run.

Finally, after stretching over endless blue, they hit upon their target, the Port-Vila airport on Efate, the capital island of the New Hebrides. Algy, who had taken the stick for a while, set the plane into a steady descent and closed the throttle halfway, electing for the more controlled power descent.

Twenty minutes later, the Catalina was running to a stop and, having run onto the apron and shut down, Algy and Biggles looked at each other.

«Is it worth splitting up the party this early on and meeting each other only at the hotel?» Algy asked, still unsure of Biggles' plan to protect their interests. «If von Stalhein and his cronies are onto us, they know all four of us anyway.»

«But four Englishmen are more noticed than two, you must admit,» Biggles argued. «If we let Bertie and Ginger off first, then followed in half an hour or so, then we'd solve that problem.»

They were moving as they talked, so all four of them were standing around in the fuselage, allowing Ginger and Bertie to once again agree with Biggles.

«In that case, we shall meet you chaps in no more than an hour. Don't get lost,» Algy admonished. Gleefully, Bertie and Ginger unloaded their supplies and headed off, engaging two natives who had apparently abandoned their customary sleep- like positions to earn a few pennies, carrying.

As soon as they stepped into the terminus- no more than a large covering, with the walls merely acting as supports for the roof, being entirely unclad- they were accosted with the local hospitality.

«It's a little different to the ole masters, what?» Muttered Bertie, looking closely at the ukulele- wielding populace, apparently welcoming them.

Ginger, who hadn't as much truck with said masters, grinned, «It's good. Maybe we should get Algy to learn to play those tunes, instead of that interminable Beethoven and...»

Bertie looked pained, but the grins the locals gave them could hardly have failed to melt even the sternest musical purist.

Thus serenaded, they dutifully asked their porters to leave their luggage to be inspected by customs - a conglomeration of whites and natives, presided over by a middle- aged, shrewd looking man who was clearly not English.

«You're from England, I take it, gents?» he inquired, smiling up from their passports, «Come in on that Catalina, did you?»

They nodded. «I take it you are from here, then, sir?» Ginger tried, but was shot a look which made him hastily add, «Your accent isn't English.»

The man nodded, scribbled something on their passports, received a nod from the man who had peered at their other papers, and answered, «Indeed it ain't. I'm a kiwi. If you gents want a hint, beware of the young boys wanting to look into that Catalina - no matter how many they see they always like to look over again.»

«That shouldn't be a problem,» Ginger smiled, «I well remember the same feelings.» The two Englishmen smiled, the kiwi and natives laughed, and Bertie and Ginger were released, still with their natives in tow, to stow their substantial kit at the hotel.

Half an hour later, Algy and Biggles went through the same path, with slightly different reactions.

«They certainly make you feel welcome,» Algy smiled as the musicians started up again. Biggles nodded, eyes busily sorting out the customs officials.

«This shouldn't be a problem,» he muttered, aware of the amount of ammunition they had on hand, «so long as he accepts our papers.»

Algy raised an eyebrow, «I don't think the others are on our track, this time,» he replied, stressing 'others'.

«Two more Brits!» the chief customs officer smiled. Clearly it was a lazy day usually, that he was down actually supervising.

«Were there others?» asked Algy blandly, proffering his passport.

«Two, about half an hour ago - they're up at the main hotel, I think,» the man volunteered.

Biggles broke in, «Are most of the officials here from other colonies, instead of England? You are from New Zealand, aren't you.»

The man smiled. «Most of us are from there, or Australia. It's easier and cheaper than coming out from England, of course. You have a good ear, sir.»

Biggles shrugged. «I served with a few kiwis, before you had your own squadrons. Good chaps they were, too.»

Again, this seemed to mollify the man and they all parted best of friends, traipsing up to the hotel and settling in their own kit.

«Phew! I could do with a wash and change, not to mention a cool drink, before I do anything else,» Biggles exclaimed, walking in to the adjoining room - Algy's - without any fanfare.

«As you say,» Algy agreed, already topless and engaging a basin of clear water, sponge and soap to very good effect.

The climate was as unpleasant as could be expected. As on most tropical islands, the air was thick with humidity, and the slightest exertion made pearls of sweat bead on the skin. Even the light shirt Biggles had put on was already damp and sticking to his chest, and they had been there for less than an hour.

«Hate this weather,» groaned Algy as he spattered himself with cool water. «It was like that in northern Australia, remember?»

Seated on one of the beds, Biggles had closed his eyes for a minute or two. The shining sun outside made the inside of the hotel seem particularly dark in contrast. «Well, think of it like this... some people pay hundreds of pounds to spend their holidays here. We get paid to be here. What can we complain of?»

«We're not on holiday,» grouched Algy. «And if we were, I wouldn't be spending it here.»

Biggles simply smiled in manner of an answer. He knew that Algy complained more as a matter of principle than because he really minded being there, and so he took the banter as a way to relax before they got started on the more serious business.

«Actually, as far as anyone here is concerned, we _are_ on holiday,» he reminded him. «We don't want to frighten away anyone who might have things to hide... which might be a lot of people around here. A small island close to Australia, New Caledonia and New Zealand, and not that far from Asia... wouldn't surprise me if there was some smuggling going on around here.»

«How does that matter?» asked Algy, surprised, letting some tepid water trickle down his front.

Biggles took out a cigarette and offered him one. «Remember what Raymond said, that the Espadon had been spotted in the high sea, and that our birdies' nest might be on any small, uninhabited atoll around here. If that is the case, they need supplies, and they can't exactly walk in Port-Vila and ask for six hundred kilos of meat or rice. That sort of mass purchases wouldn't go unnoticed. Smuggling is the safest way they can get what they need without having supply ships come to them halfway around the world every week.»

Algy had to surrender to the logic of that argument. «So that would be one way of finding them,» he admitted. «Won't be easy, though. If there's a lot of smuggling going on in the vicinity, we'll be looking for a needle in a haystack.»

«I know, but it is one place where to start. That being said, I really think the first step will be to have a look around Port-Vila, with our eyes open for anything suspicious. If that doesn't give, we'll try flying around, but I'm not too hopeful. If there really is a base, it will be well-hidden.»

Algy took a long drag of his cigarette. «Another option would be to hire a boat and go to the same place where the photograph of the Espadon was taken.»

«Indeed,» Biggles nodded. «If none of that works, then we can rethink our approach. All right, if you're refreshed enough, I'm up for a walk.»

Algy put a fresh shirt on and they headed out. They came across Ginger and Bertie in the lobby, and pretended not to recognize them. Of course, Port-Vila was not a big town, at least not according to European standards, and despite its being a fairly popular touristic destination, there were not that many hotels. The _Melanesian_ was the best one, located in the city centre, and it would have been too much trouble for Ginger and Bertie to stay somewhere else. That way, at least, they would be able to communicate easily and discreetly, all the while pretending not to know one another.

They stepped outside in the late-afternoon sun, still warm but with longer shadows and a fresher breeze coming from the sea. Most striking was the heavy smell of tropical vegetation, strong and exotic but not unpleasant. Algy and Biggles made for the harbour and the wooden esplanade alongside it. A number of boats, mostly yachts and catamarans, were moored there, obviously belonging to rich settlers. As they sauntered along, something white caught Biggles' eye. He pointed it to Algy with a slight jerk of the chin.

«See that?»

Algy glanced at it. «What? Ah... a flying boat. Interesting.»

It was a small machine, one that could certainly not take more than a half-dozen people, and that was stretching it. It was not new either, but in a good state of repair. Moored to a floating pier, it was rocking slightly with the gentle waves of the lowering tide, its floaters hitting regularly the pier with a quiet, rhythmic thud.

«That would be more discreet than our own kites, if we want to fly around a little,» commented Biggles. «In any case, I'd be curious to know to whom it belongs. The owner might have noticed unusual activity in the vicinity, who knows...»

«We can ask about it at the hotel, or better yet, at the airport.»

«That'll be something for tomorrow,» said Biggles.

Their walk had taken them to the street market. Near the waterfront, natives were selling wood and mother-of-pearl carvings, pareos made of bright coloured cloth, and other such jewellery, tiki, shark teeth and various souvenirs. A little farther in, it was clearly also the food market, which offered mostly exotic fruit, guava, banana, coconuts and breadfruit, as well as various types of fish and seafood. At first it was a little overwhelming, but once Biggles and Algy had been around the area a first time, they realized it did not offer such a wide variety of wares after all. Past the first moments of pleasure wandering along the stands, they tired of it quickly and walked back to the esplanade, where there were fewer people.

They stopped for a moment to watch the setting sun. It was perhaps around six in the evening, and as on all tropical islands twilight set in quickly.

«We'd better get back to the hotel,» said Biggles. «In less than fifteen minutes, it will be dark. I think I could do with an early dinner.»

Algy's only answer was a deep yawn, which made Biggles smile. They found their way back easily, but took their time. The evening brought with it a much welcome coolness, and they enjoyed it as they walked slowly under the palm trees.

«I'm starting to understand why some people actually choose to live here,» Algy said. «It's not so unpleasant now.»

Indeed, while the last reddish-gold rays of the sun glittered on the waves of the harbour, the view was stunning.

«You probably won't say that tomorrow at midday,» smiled Biggles. «Besides, don't get too used to it. Remember, we have to get back to foggy England when this is over.»

«Hmm. Wonder what Bertie and Ginger have been up to. I wouldn't be surprised to see Ginger come back to the hotel with a shark jaw or some other equally useless souvenir.»

Biggles smiled. «Oh, there wouldn't be much harm in that.»

«You may not say that if he leaves it lying around in your chair before you come down for breakfast.»

«Bitten by a dead shark?» Biggles' smile turned into a laugh. «Now wouldn't that be quite a story.»

By then they had reached the hotel and entered the lobby. It had been almost deserted when they left, but with dinnertime approaching more and more of the hotel customers had been gathering downstairs in evening dress, getting ready for the evening meal.

«What do you say we have a drink at the bar?» suggested Algy. «It's still early, and with this warmth I wouldn't mind something cold.»

«I was about to suggest it.»

They made their way to the bar and handed the bartender some CFP francs they had had the precaution to change prior to their departure, receiving in exchange two glasses of lemonade (with "lots of ice" as per Algy's requirements). Biggles was taking a sip of his ice-cold lemonade when he saw Algy stiffen beside him. It was almost imperceptible, but Biggles knew his friend well enough to notice the slightly tenser jaw, the deeper lines of worry in his brow, and the narrowing of his eyes. His drink remained halfway between the counter and his lips.

«What is it?»

At first Algy said nothing, but he paled a little, his eyes fixed on a point on the other side of the room. Biggles began to turn around, but Algy's fingers closed around his arm and stopped him.

«Algy?»

«Behind you,» Algy said through gritted teeth. «Guess who I just saw?» He set his glass back on the counter, no longer interested in its contents.

«I don't know,» said Biggles wryly. He was in no mood to play games. «The ghost of the Red Baron?»

«Almost. Erich von Stalhein.»


	2. Old Friends

**Chapter 2**

«Wha -" Biggles almost turned around again, but caught himself in time. With forced casualness, he angled his head slightly to the right so he could glance behind him inconspicuously. It took him a moment to scan the crowd, but quickly enough he spotted the tall, thin figure of the last man on earth he expected to find there.

«Do you think he's seen us?» Biggles ventured, without much hope.

Algy had a humourless laugh. «I'd think so. His face grew quite sour when he spotted us. You'd think he had seen a big hairy spider.»

At that precise moment Biggles' eyes crossed von Stalhein's cold eyes, and the man cast him a poisonous glare.

«Ouch. If looks could kill...»

«The whole hotel would be in shambles by now,» Algy deadpanned, then grew serious again. «At least he hasn't seen Ginger and Bertie yet... I hope.»

«Better not get too flustered about this,» advised Biggles. Now that the shock had waned, he was quite calm again. «This is not good for us, but it's much worse for him.»

«How so?» Algy picked up his drink, so far untouched, and dipped his lips in it.

«Von Stalhein has to be involved in this business we've been sent to investigate. The coincidence would be too great for him to be doing anything else. Of course, it would have been better if he had not spotted us, but with him being in Port-Vila it would have happened sooner or later. It was just a stroke of bad luck that he's staying in the same hotel as us." Biggles shrugged ruefully, accustomed by now to such strokes of fate.

"You're taking this very well."

"There is no reason to make a fuss. There isn't much our old friend can do to stop us, and knowing of our presence here tells him nothing, except that we might be onto this case. On the other hand, watching him and following him may allow us to learn a lot about this whole business. He knows it. That's why he looked so unhappy.»

«Perhaps,» conceded Algy grudgingly, «but we'd still better watch our backs - and warn Ginger and Bertie to do the same. He's shown already that he's not above whatever means necessary to put an end to the threat we represent. Remember that time when he tried to sabotage our plane?»

«So we'll have to be especially careful.» Biggles shrugged and took another sip of his lemonade, though he was still watching von Stalhein from the corner of his eye. He had hoped to catch a glimpse of whoever the German might have been talking with, but whoever it was had been lost in the rest of the crowd.

«At least he's alone against the four of us.»

«We don't know that. Actually, I'd think it fairly likely that he would have an accomplice or two in this very hotel.»

Algy set down his now half-empty glass. «We could do the prudent thing and just arrest him.»

«And then we'd learn nothing more from him. He'd be as tight-lipped as an oyster. Remember, time is of the essence. By arresting him, we would gain little if anything at all. No, better to let him go free and see where that leads us.» Biggles set down his glass beside Algy's and pushed himself away from the bar. «Keep an eye on him, would you? I'm going to the reception. Be back in a moment."

He was off before Algy had time to enquire any further, and strode to the lobby. At the desk was working an employee, a young man in a formal suit, obviously too warm for the local climate. Biggles smiled at him politely.

«Excuse me,» he said pleasantly, «but I was supposed to meet a friend who is staying in this hotel. Perhaps you've seen him? A tall, thin fellow with black hair and blue eyes. Walks with a limp, and he tends to look a bit stern. Does that ring a bell?»

The employee looked a little surprised and frowned slightly, but quickly his features lightened in recognition. «I think I might know who you're talking about, sir. What did you say your friend's name was?»

«Brown,» Biggles said without missing a beat.

«Ah...» the young man looked disappointed. «Then I must be mistaken. From your description, I thought maybe you were talking of Mr. Stahl, but...»

«Are you sure you aren't confusing with someone else?» Biggles insisted amiably. «There can't be many people with that description. The man I'm looking for is Australian...»

«That's definitely not him. Mr. Stahl is Swiss, and I really can't be mistaken about him - he's been a regular in the past few months. I'm very sorry, sir. If you'll wait just a moment, I'll check if there is a reservation for a Mr. Brown.»

That was the last thing Biggles wanted. «Actually, never mind,» he said hastily. «I think I just spotted him. Sorry to have bothered you, and thanks for your help.»

«You're welcome... sir...» said the young man, a little nonplussed by Biggles' swift departure.

He joined Algy at the bar, and told him rapidly of what he had learnt. Von Stalhein - or Mr. Stahl - was still there, apparently as intent on watching them as they were on watching him. He was probably curious as to the reason for their presence, if he had not already guessed.

«Well, this is getting ridiculous,» said Biggles. «We aren't going to spend the evening on a staring contest.»

«What are you going to do?» asked Algy.

«I'm going to talk to him.»

Algy stared at him as though he had just grown a pair of horns and a pointy tail. «Whyever would you do that?»

Biggles shrugged casually. «Whyever not? He already knows we're here, so it can do no harm. And I might learn something. Actually, I think I'm going to invite him to dinner.»

Algy just stared at him, his mouth slightly open. «You can't be serious.»

«He wants to keep an eye on us, and us on him. Seems like the best way, doesn't it?»

He made his way through the crowd, unconcerned. He knew Algy would watch his back, and that in any case von Stalhein would not be foolish enough to try anything in so public a place. It was therefore with complete serenity that he accosted the German, unfazed by the man's glower. It was obvious von Stalhein would have preferred to avoid the meeting completely, but Biggles left him no time to escape.

«Good evening,» he said pleasantly. «Isn't the world a small place? Who'd think we'd bump into each other here, of all places?»

«Who, indeed?» returned the German sourly.

«How do you like Port-Vila so far?»

«You will find out soon enough for yourself that the climate here is... debilitating.» The threat was only thinly veiled, but Biggles feigned to ignore it.

«Well, you know me. I'm not one to leave just because it's a little hot.»

«Of course not,» murmured von Stalhein, sounding vaguely regretful.

«Are you here on your own?»

Biggles could almost see the German's brain at work. Whether he admitted to being alone or not, he would be giving away valuable information. But then, he could also be lying.

«Why do you want to know?» von Stalhein finally asked, abruptly.

«I thought I'd extend an invitation to dinner, if you're on your own.»

Von Stalhein looked almost as surprised as Algy had been, though he hid it well. Only a twitch of his eyelid betrayed his confusion as he tried to work out what Biggles could be planning with this impromptu invitation.

He came to a decision soon enough though. «No doubt it is your British chivalry which suggested it. Or perhaps you merely wish for more company, having finally grown sick of Lacey,» he drawled as he stood, collecting his drink and making to move back to where Algy had stayed.

«No, but some of us have been blessed with good manners,» smiled Biggles easily, leading the way. He could not understand what need von Stalhein had for taking such a cheap shot at Algy - they weren't threatening him in any way that made such a thing necessary.

«Hullo,» Algy nodded, «should I address you as Comrade or Mr Stahl? or would it be easier to stick to von Stalhein?»

For the second time in as many minutes, the German did a good job of hiding his surprise, though he did look distinctly unhappy at the good-hearted mockery.

Algy addressed his companion easily, «There should be no trouble with the three of us for dinner- although I had noticed they offered a room- delivery service, which would have saved the trouble after a journey.»

Biggles shrugged, unsure how much of that was to comfort him that Ginger and Bertie would remain away- and how he hoped that message got passed on as quickly as gossip apparently did - and how much was censure.

«If you would be so kind, Mr Stahl would prevent the natives from getting confused.» von Stalhein smiled thinly, «Am I to understand you have not taken similar precautions?»

«We have no reason to,» Biggles replied, sternly, returning to his lemonade.

«As the only tourists who haven't succumbed to bright shirts and shorts, you stand out a mile,» von Stalhein noted.

«Don't worry yourself on that account,» Algy smirked, «tomorrow, we'll blend right in.»

For a meal between enemies, it was surprisingly pleasant, and Algy had to admit anything which prevented him having to crane his neck every few minutes was certainly appreciated.

Following a meal which might well have come from one of the more middle-range hotels in England, von Stalhein paid his bill (making it quite clear he would not have someone he considered his enemy offer him dinner) and left, retiring, presumably, to talk with his gang or to his room.

Bill paid, Biggles and Algy looked at each other, before Algy stood and made towards the doors. «It's a lovely night out there, Biggles, and I've been eyeing up those coconuts all afternoon. Let's go for another stroll.»

Algy's dead-pan delivery postponed Biggles' mirth until they were outside, enjoying the balmy evening which can only be found in the pacific.

«Tomorrow, we keep our ears to the ground and also try and acquire that surveillance plane?» Algy asked, once their conversation was ready to turn towards business matters once more.

«Two and two - I thought we could poke our noses around, since we're already known, and the others could see about the plane,» Biggles replied, gently turning them back towards their hotel, accepting the proffered coconut for a sip of the rich milk.

Five minutes later they were below Bertie and Ginger's windows and each man tossed a couple of stones upwards, waving when two heads came out of Bertie's window. There was a broad wall a handy distance away and all four regrouped on that, passing the coconut between them before Ginger set to work with his knife, retrieving edible chunks of flesh.

«Learn anything?» Biggles asked, when he had related their adventures with von Stalhein.

«Nothing much,» Ginger replied ruefully, «but I think we'll have to put on those awful shirts tomorrow - at least then we're clearly barmy tourists."

Algy nodded, «Just as well I have a couple each already packed.» And, when they looked surprised, «Where did you think we went, the night before we went away?»

Bertie rolled his eyes. «For the good of the country, I suppose I might be induced to look like a bally rainbow, but it had better not be too garish, Algy, or mark my words...»

Algy smiled wickedly, «Would sir prefer the pink and purple or the green and yellow?» and narrowly missed the slice of coconut Bertie threw at him.

The next morning a combination of bright sunlight and cooler temperatures combined to entice Algy out of bed and into the breakfast room (suitably attired in a bright, open collared, short sleeved shirt) before the other three had appeared. He looked about him cautiously, wondering if von Stalhein was there, and was both puzzled and relieved not to see him.  
>He was sipping some tea and appraising the various fruits on offer when Biggles - resplendent in the green and yellow shirt - made his entry.<p>

«You're lucky I didn't have a mouth full of tea,» Algy greeted him, holding back his laughter with difficulty.

«So are you,» Biggles rejoined, "though I must admit it is cooler than what we were in yesterday.»

«Careful, or I'll think you're enjoying wearing it and you'll get one for Christmas.» Algy smiled, feeling it was safe enough now to start on some toast.

«No sign of Mr Stahl, then?» Biggles enquired, having helped himself to the tea pot.

«Not a skerrick. Where will we start looking, today, then?»

Biggles spoke low and almost urgently, «Not we. You will stay here, keeping an eye on our rooms and the movements of any guests. There aren't many other places to stay and certainly not up to the standards of European hospitality. The other two will take a dekko and I will head down to the docks and listen there, in all likelihood. There are bound to be Europeans there who are willing to talk - captains, at the very least.»

Algy sighed. «Not very good at delegating, are you now? Couldn't you stay here and I go down to the docks, or we could both go out - I could go into town instead.» In his heart though Algy knew he'd be staying in the hotel, and it irked him. He'd never taken well to being mothered.

«I'd be much happier knowing our kit was safe.» Biggles averred, and that was that.

An hour later, Biggles slipped from Algy's room, leaving Algy to do the same half an hour later. Upon leaving the hotel, Biggles walked at a steady pace - it was already too warm for a brisk one - towards the sea and thence to the docks, where he planned on listening and, if the opportunity arose, talking to the people who frequented such places.

Algy slipped along the corridor to Bertie and Ginger and told them he would be staying put for the day, unless something came up. They nodded and headed off as well, making towards the private, rather than industrialised, part of the wharf, back towards the plane. They were in two minds as to jump aboard or look for the owner. Ginger, more impetuous, was all for taking it but Bertie pointed out they could always do that if the owner wouldn't let them take it for a joy ride. So they agreed, and started asking who owned it.

«I know the guy» volunteered a youth - his tanned skin and grey eyes set him apart from the locals, as did his voice, boasting the flat vowels of the southern pacific.

«Do you know much about him?» asked Ginger, smiling the half-cheeky smile which frustrated Biggles so much. «Is he likely to give us a lift in it, do you think?»

The youth shrugged. «He might do. He's let me sit in her and explained about flying to me. But he's never let me fly with him, though I've asked him enough.» Suddenly he stuck out his hand and returned the smile which Ginger had given him. «I'm Harry, anyway. You probably met my father when you came in.»

Ginger shook the hand warmly. «Everyone calls me Ginger, Harry. Are you the rascal we were talking about when we came through customs, then?»

Harry nodded. «Probably. Dad always says he talks about me to visitors - to warn them, he says.»

Bertie shifted a little, clearly getting impatient, but Ginger was loathe to give up an opportunity to garner support, and possibly information. «So does this aeroplane owner have a name?» he inquired, removing his hat and waving it by the brim in an effort to cool down.

«We call him Brownie - cos he's nuts - but he'd be better introduced to you as Mr Rainbow, I suppose,» Harry answered. «He came out with the war and stayed on, going back home to arrange for this plane to follow, and that's all. No family, they say. We call him Brownie because he lives down around the coast, in a sort of lean-to and cave, and flies in here when he feels like it. He always gets fuel from the tradeships.»

Bertie raised an eyebrow. «He's been doing that for this many years? I assume he was a pilot in the war, then?»

Harry agreed, «Eventually. He'll be back this afternoon, I should think - he's usually here about two o'clock.» The two men thanked him and seemed about to go, when Harry blurted out, «You couple came in the Catalina, didn't you? Could you show me over her? Please?»

He had all the eagerness and awkwardness which Ginger used to have himself and for that reason alone, even if he hadn't proved so useful, he probably would get his wish.

«I'll show you around if Bertie will go back to the hotel and get a couple things for me,» Ginger promised, turning to talk to Bertie. Dutifully, Harry took a couple steps backwards, a grin on his face.

«Go back and tell Algy what we know, then come back here and keep an eye out - we don't want to find Rainbow's changed his schedule.»

Bertie nodded. «Don't be too long- and for heaven's sake don't let Harry have a ride, yet, or we'll get nothing out of him. If everything's going well in a few days, maybe, but we don't want to be spotted giving scenic flights, yet.»

Ginger nodded. «Sure thing. Now get going.»

The two conspirators turned away and went their separate ways. Harry strolled alongside Ginger, holding back questions for a while before blurting out with, «Ginger, why are you flying in here? Wouldn't it be cheaper to boat, like everyone else does?»

Ginger shrugged. «It's a lot faster to fly, though. I prefer knowing who's in charge of my transport. Besides," he looked a little shamefaced, «I'm much more prone to sea- sickness.»

Harry stared at him, agog. «Really? I mean, we've all been a little queasy when we're days out from land in a storm, I suppose... but...» the idea of really, honest to goodness seasickness seemed to bemuse him, holding almost until they got to the airstrip, not very far away.

* * *

><p>Biggles was beginning to ponder emulating the native dress, despite his own pale complexion. It was too early for there to be many idlers, and to be talking to natives all the time, while not a problem from the point of view of language, was likely to attract more suspicion. He hadn't picked up anything which sounded dodgy, but there was also a lack of gossip wherever he went which was almost as suggestive to a detective.<p>

He was sitting on a low bench, contemplating the sea and his next move, when he sensed something. He couldn't at the first moment put his finger on it, but instincts honed in the hardest school held him still as he analysed what new stimulus had made an impression on him. A few moments later he thought he had the answer- an answer certainly.

A few feet away a grizzled man who could only be described as a sea dog was tamping down his pipe, eyes peering out from under a tattered cap. Biggles had already spotted him and dismissed him as an eccentric local landmark. While he was tamping down his pipe he whistled and Biggles realised it was this noise which had sparked his response. The song he was whistling was one which Biggles had heard a few times before - always while behind enemy lines, so to speak.

Biggles took another look at the man, now picking out more clues which marked him as soviet. The cut of his jacket was one which would never been seen as far West as England, the shape of his face and the colour of his hair all pointed in the right direction as well.  
>Weighing his options, Biggles decided to go and speak to the man, as the tourist he was posing as. With a shake of his head, as one who has realised they are sitting idly and are somewhat ashamed, he rose and moved towards the man.<p>

As he walked closer, the man gave a slight jerk. Nothing much, really, but once again something seemed to jar. Biggles kept his face carefully neutral as he arrived within a few feet of him, and forced on his lips the natural, carefree smile an innocent tourist might show.

«Hello there. Nice weather today.»

The seaman seemed oddly startled at being addressed so directly, and he stared at Biggles for a few seconds, as if pondering the necessity to grace him with a reply. «Yes,» he finally said, slowly. «Very fine.» The way he spoke made it clear English was not his native tongue, but it would be impossible to tell which part of the world he was from if not for his distinctly slavic features.

«Perhaps a little too nice, really,» Biggles added with a sheepish grin. «Hard to stand for a newcomer like myself.»

The other man kept staring at him, without hostility but with little warmth all the same. «If you say so.»

«But perhaps it is better on the high seas,» concluded Biggles casually.

Another slight jerk betrayed the man's surprise. «What makes you say that?» he asked harshly.

«Oh, come on. I can recognize a sailor when I see one - what, with the pipe and the cap, what else can you be?»

He squinted up at his cap, as though surprised to find it on his head, then shrugged. «Indeed. And who might you be?»

«Name's Biggles.» That triggered no reaction. «What's your name?»

«None of your business.» This time the man looked a little angry, and he turned away without further word, leaving a baffled Biggles behind.

That one was definitely an odd customer, Biggles thought. What could have got him in such a state? He looked at the retreating figure of the sailor, and on a whim decided to follow him. There was something wrong with him. It may or may not have anything to do with the Espadon, but it was worth investigating further.

A glance of the man over his shoulder made Biggles' heart beat faster as he hastily pretended to have been walking along the esplanade. He had been too casual, but it was not as easy to follow a man discreetly as it is made out to be in espionage novels, especially in an almost deserted area. When the sailor turned away and walked faster, Biggles used all the tricks he knew to stay behind him without the other noticing it, and hoped they would not have far to go.

For a little while, the seaman followed the main street alongside the esplanade, but soon he turned to the left and followed another, narrower alley. Biggles had not seen much of the town yet, and he could not tell with any accuracy where this little stroll was taking him. The more the sailor veered off the main street, the harder it became to remain inconspicuous. Several times, Biggles had to run around the block and find his man at the next crossroads to avoid being alone on the sidewalk with him, for his target looked frequently around him.

At last, the man's steps slowed down, and he stopped near a medium-sized building. They were now in the outskirts of town, and most of the buildings in the vicinity appeared to be ware-houses and boat-houses, such as the one the sailor had stopped near to. With a last, quick, look around him, he pushed the door and entered, leaving Biggles in a quandary. Getting closer would be risky, but from where he was he could not see or hear anything - he could not even be sure there actually was something to see or hear, something worth the risk.

Whatever he decided, he had to be quick about it. Finally, he walked around the warehouse, looking for a window or anything that would allow him to find out what was inside. On the side of the warehouse, there were windows, but they were too high for Biggles to reach them. He looked around expectantly for some sort of footboard. Wooden boxes were lying around a bit farther, and he walked over to bring one back with the hope it would not collapse under his weight. He had just bent to do so when a hand grabbed him by the shoulder.

Biggles reacted purely instinctively; reaching blindly behind him, he grabbed an arm and twisted it viciously as he freed himself from its hold. A muffled cry of pain testified to the success of his effort as he pushed his attacker in front of him and seized him by the collar of his hawaiian shirt. An exclamation of surprise crossed his lips when he saw the man's face.

«What the devil are you doing here?» He murmured furiously.

Algy looked back at him, eyes wide and gasping for his breath. «Biggles! I heard you coming, but I couldn't see you - I thought you were one of them! What are you doing here? I thought you'd be...»

«Never mind,» Biggles cut him. «We can talk later. Help me with this.»

Together they easily carried the box near the window and Biggles climbed on it to peer inside the warehouse. It was dark, but not so much so that he could not see inside after a moment or two. Two figures stood inside, but Biggles could not make out their faces until one of them lit a cigarette and the flickering light of the flame lit up the stern features of a well-known person. Biggles let out a slight gasp of surprise, but that confirmed once and for all his suspicions.

He had to hear what they were saying, he thought, and he pressed his ear against the wall. On a tropical island such as Efate, with a small population and constant warmth, neither security nor the weather encouraged the building of very thick walls, and if he strained his ears he managed to catch part of the conversation. He was quickly disappointed however, because the words made no sense to him. They were spoken in a guttural language he did not understand.

Von Stalhein sounded angry but controlled, and the sailor seemed to be apologizing to him, or perhaps justifying his actions. Biggles wished dearly he could know what they said, but the only thing he understood was his name, spoken twice by von Stalhein in the middle of his telling-off. Biggles began to wonder if von Stalhein was angry at his meeting the sailor. On the other hand, he had a sneaking suspicion that it was not by chance if the man had been there. Had von Stalhein sent him to spy on Biggles, or was really their meeting an accident? Both theories would make sense. Either way, little more could be learnt by staying there, so Biggles decided to take no chances. Climbing down, he motioned for Algy to follow him and hurried back to the esplanade, where they sat on one of the benches.

«Well,» he sighed finally, «that was a more eventful morning than expected.»

«Did you hear anything?» asked Algy, who had reigned in his curiousity until then.

«Not much,» said Biggles with a vague wave of the hand. «They were speaking some foreign language.» He gave Algy the few details he had picked up from what he had seen and heard, and explained how he had followed the suspicious sailor to the warehouse.

«Sounds like von Stalhein is taking our presence here very seriously,» said Algy. He sounded a little worried.

«That is understandable. In any case, I took note of the location of the warehouse. The next step is to find out who it belongs to, although I doubt that will tell us much. Von Stalhein is too thorough a fellow to not have thought of that. Now, I think it is your turn to tell your story. You were supposed to stay at the hotel. What happened?»

Algy shrugged. «After you left I stayed in our rooms for a little while, looked out the window at people going in and out. But then the cleaning ladies came to do the room, so I went down to have a drink at the bar. That is where I was when I spotted von Stalhein in the lobby. He seemed to be going out, and I figured it couldn't hurt to find out what he was up to.»

«So you followed him.»

«Right. It was not easy - once or twice, I was afraid he might have spotted me - but the green and red shirt probably helped me blend in. He took a walk on the esplanade, then continued on to the harbour. Then he stopped near a boat - a small cargo - and talked for a moment with the crew. I think he talked to the captain, also, but I'm not sure, I couldn't get too close. Then he left and went to that warehouse where I found you.»

Biggles nodded gravely. «You did a good job. This may be the lead we needed to find out more about the Espadon. Unless we accidentally stumbled on something entirely different, but as I said already I doubt it. The coincidence would be too much. That small cargo, did you see its name?»

«Of course. It's called the Schattenjäger - apparently, it's from West Germany, but I expect its registration is phony.»

«I see,» Biggles said slowly, pondering all they had learnt since their arrival. It was at the same time a lot and not much. In and of itself, knowing that von Stalhein was there and had friends in the crew of the Schattenjäger was not really meaningful. But with this information, there was much they could find out.

«So what now?»

Biggles checked his watch. It was half past ten. «It's a little early for lunch. I think I'll do what I planned to do in the first place, go to the dock and see what I can find out. It should be easier now that I have a more serious lead. I should be able to find out a few things about the Schattenjäger, how often it docks here for instance, what cargo it carries, what the nationality of its crew is, that sort of thing. In the meantime, you can try and find out who that warehouse belongs to, and then go and take a look at our kites. We can meet for lunch around one, back at the hotel. As for Bertie and Ginger, the more they stay out of sight, the better. I don't want von Stalhein to know they're here if we can avoid it.»

Algy looked doubtful. «He'll suspect it in any case - he knows that where there is one of us, the others are never very far. He learnt that at his own expense more than once.»

«But he won't know where they are. That's a small advantage, but I'll take all I can get.»

«All right, but I still don't like that idea of your going to the docks on your own, now that we know there's a whole nest of von Stalhein's cronies over there.»

Biggles shrugged, unconcerned. «Considering the size of that island, it's not like staying away from the docks would really guarantee my safety. Besides, we need to learn more, and we cannot do that without taking a few risks.»

«Why not go together then?» Algy insisted. «I really think it would be safer.»

«But it would hinder us. People will talk to one person more easily than they would talk to two, you know that as well as I do. And I don't think they would dare to attack me in the middle of the day, in plain sight.»

Algy looked clearly unhappy, but he must have realized by then that there would be no changing Biggles' mind for he objected no more.

With little idea of where to go, he stood just before Biggles did, moving in the opposite direction. It was a warm day and, coupled with dim ideas gathered from various books and experiences, he headed to the nearest watering-hole to avail himself of something wet and preferably cold. The establishment he tumbled into clearly dealt with the tourist and the local, suiting his purposes fine. Ordering a cooling drink, he settled to listen and find out anything interesting.

Biggles headed back in the direction he had come, shaking his head over the way Algy spoke up. It was an odd sort of friendship, he supposed. But then he was back to being able to see the docks and he concentrated on what he was coming here for.


	3. Investigations

**Chapter 3**

"Drat!" Bertie swore, casting his eyes frantically around the hotel lounge and moving on towards the stairs. He didn't want to draw attention to the relations between Ginger and he and Algy and Biggles, so he couldn't very well go straight up to the reception desk, if Algy was in his room.

Algy wasn't, and Bertie wondered if he should leave a note or try and find him. After a little thinking, he decided it would be better not to leave notes lying around - security was never tight enough to be totally safe - and that he'd take a brisk wonder through the likely environs and then report back to Ginger.

'Not that the bally fool is likely to be in a sensible place,' he mused as he panted his way back through the warm air. 'Phew! A drink would be just the ticket.' A road-side vendor was proffering just that, so he paused to buy one.

Giving Algy up for lost - the vendor hadn't seen any other English men wondering around for a while- Bertie turned his steps back towards their plane. No need for all four of them to be wandering about alone, with the enemy closing in.

* * *

><p>Algy was pleased with his progress so far. The two locals nearby had been happy to answer questions about warehouses. Algy had posed as interested in setting up some business or other, keen to get some local knowledge before making another visit to the authorities. He ended up with a list of local warehouse owners, workers and dilapidated ones, of which there were few. There were no names which rang any bells, but he wasn't surprised. If this was, as suggested, a national thing, they would hardly be putting their dimmest men on the jobs. Von Stalhein was proof of that. He spun out the conversation as long as he could- these men were happy to talk to a visitor and asked him all sorts of questions- but there were only a certain number of times he could explain the strange weather phenomenon of England, or their view of the Pacific.<p>

Finally, having bought each man a drink, he left the cooler interior to continue his pursuit of knowledge. He stopped not far down the road to make some notes of the conversation- names and places- lest he forget too much more.

Eventually he reasoned there was a lot of information to be had at the airport, with all the locals sitting and talking. He had no wish to go along to the docks and perhaps jeopardise the conversation Biggles and he were needing to have with the locals, for their own ends.

With the contentment which comes from having a definite plan in mind, and the laziness which the heat suggested, he hailed the next passing car. Far from a London taxi it might be, but it provided him with a much shorter run to the airport. He was still aware a meeting at one, lunch included, would be necessary. He had learnt a lot, even if Biggles hadn't.

* * *

><p>Bertie continued his stroll, sipping the drink, in the direction of the docks, leisurely picking out the vessel he would buy if he had to pick one, eyeing the small plane with a wary eye. He didn't want it taking off before he'd finished hunting down and talking to its owner. He might change his schedule and not be in town for weeks, leaving them stranded with a sledgehammer when they wanted a chisel.<p>

Thankfully, Bertie sunk down in the shade near the aeroplane without the fellow Brownie having turned up. He stretched out his legs into the sun, removed his hat to his forehead, and leant back in an attitude of sleep. It was interesting to hear the conversations going on around him, to feel the very un-English texture beneath his back and, for the first time in years and years, experience a new country. His mind drifted to other things as he waited.

* * *

><p>Biggles meandered the docks in as unobtrusive way as possible. He was torn between asking at the office and making a few discreet questions of the men and women working or lazing around the area.<p>

Finally he decided it was probably easier to ask a local - the chances of the one he picked from the multitudes being a spy for the soviets was far more remote than there being someone in the office who didn't want to answer. After all, there had to be someone supervising their loading and unloading.

Slowly he turned his steps towards the _Schattenjäger_. There was a distinct lack of activity around this one and Biggles frowned. Even those ships which were clearly about to go into dry dock or were waiting to unload had people swarming on them. This one had maybe a dozen, if you included the two cold-looking men far up on the deck above. Biggles had no wish to speak to them and perched himself on a bollard a few feet away, on the edge of the crowd but not clearly infringing on the apparent bubble of the _Schattenjäger_.

'Here's a pretty kettle of fish' he mused, 'The one which I want to know about has no swarming mass to ask and furthermore is protected by two men who are clearly going to prevent me from making my own discoveries. So do I wait and see, or do I go to the office and ask - or demand - to know what they're up to? Why are these things always easier in books?'

He was glancing at his watch, wondering how much time he still had, before someone noticed and took exception to him, when there was a cough at his elbow.

«Sir? The man over by Bro...Mr. Rainbow's plane sent me over to ask you to have a word with him.»

Biggles looked at the youth standing near him and then in the direction of his hand. Bertie, stretched out and leaning against the hanger, hardly glanced in his direction.

«Did he have a reason, lad?"

«He thought you'd met before- he said maybe France- and he said he was sorry he couldn't get up to talk to you, he's got a touch of the sun.»

Biggles smiled. «Well a fellow country- man in trouble, if nothing else. Thank you laddie. By the way- you don't happen to know anything about this unusual vessel, do you?» He gestured at the Schattenjäger without much hope.

His surprise, when the boy said he did, was considerable, and he spoke without thinking. «How?»

The lad shifted. «Sorry, sir. I'm the custom man's son- his younger one, Jonathan. Though everyone calls me John.»

Biggles smiled. «That would explain a lot, John. You have a resemblance, I think. Perhaps you'd like to tell me all you know about these ships, and the dock, once I've talked with this man?»

John nodded. «That'd be swe...er...Yes, I would.»

Biggles nodded. «If you aren't doing anything, would you wait around here for me to finish this discussion?»

John grinned, «Will do. Thank you, sir.»

Biggles stood and made his way over to Bertie.

«Do you know where Algy is?» was Bertie's first question.

Biggles shook his head, «No. I hope you know where Ginger is, though.»

Bertie struggled a little more upright. «He's taking a young boy by the name of Harry back to the kite to give him a bit of a look around and pump him all about Mr. Rainbow - whose plane you are currently staring at.»

Biggles whistled, «Harry wouldn't be the son of the customs man, would he? I've just been chatting to his other one.»

Bertie nodded. «Seems one likes boats and the other planes, or some such. Anyway, good news for us, finding two half-intelligible sources of information. I say! Do you know if Algy is alright, at least?»

Biggles nodded distractedly, «He was fine an hour ago, when I left him. He was off to hunt down some information about the owner of a warehouse our friends are using. Why?»

Briefly Bertie related the episode he and Ginger had just had. Biggles, in return, told Bertie in a few words most of what had occurred for him.

«So you will talk to this Rainbow figure and arrange for us to use his plane, if at all possible? Don't forget - the chance of him already being approached by the others is hardly remote.»

Bertie nodded. «Leave it to me. You'd better not keep that John waiting, I suppose. Good to see you.»

The last was said a little louder, as though they were indeed old friends who had just spotted each other. Biggles stood and shook out his shorts. «And you. Keep an eye out.»

Bertie nodded and slipped back into his pose of a tired traveller. Biggles went back to the lad, Jonathan, who was fidgeting a little, waiting for him.

«Sorry for the wait,» he said. «I told the fellow to find himself a spot in the shade.»

«So was he an acquaintance?» John asked out of politeness.

Biggles almost said it had been a mistake, but changed his mind at the last moment. It may be convenient to use the boy as a messenger, and the only way to do so without arousing his suspicion was to claim they did know each other; so he transformed his shake of the head into a nod. «Yes, actually, we met once or twice during the war. It's rather ironic that we should meet again after all this time, and in such a place.»

«Guess so.»

«But you were going to tell me about these ships...»

«Oh, yes,» John nodded eagerly. «That is... if you're sure you're interested. Most people get bored when I tell them about boats and ships.»

Biggles smiled. «I'm quite sure. Tell you what - it's fairly warm here, especially at this time of the day...» - indeed, noon was looming closer and closer - «...so I could use a fresh drink, and I assume you wouldn't mind one either. Let's take a seat in that bar I see in the shade of the palm trees, and we can talk.»

The truth was that, beyond the fact that Biggles was indeed thirsty, he was also not too eager to remain near the _Schattenjäger_and in plain sight. He did not think there was much danger to him, at least not more than anywhere else on the island, but he did not want to bring anyone's attention to Jonathan. If they saw the two of them speaking together, von Stalhein's friends might decide to take measures, and Biggles knew he would feel terrible if anything happened to the boy.

John was nodding his agreement and followed Biggles to the bar, from where they could see most of the docks but were themselves partly hidden behind the palm trees. The lad ordered the same as Biggles, an orange juice with a lot of ice.

«So,» he said after he had taken a sip, «you want to know about the cargo over there...»

«Yes,» Biggles nodded, «the Schattenjäger. It looks good.»

And it was true. Although the ship was fairly small, it was obvious even to a neophyte that it was well built. The cargo had strong and sturdy lines, yet retained a certain amount of grace and elegance. The black and red paint on its hull showed signs of wear, but it was clean of the shells that often clung to the metal after a few months at sea.

«It's a very good boat,» agreed John wholeheartedly. «I wanted to visit it - sometimes the officers let me - but I wasn't allowed to this time.» He scowled a little at the thought.

«Really? That's too bad,» said Biggles, disappointed for more than one reason. But of course, it made sense that no intruders would be admitted onboard. «So what else do you know about it?»

«Well, it's been here for two or three days,» John began. «It comes fairly regularly, every two or three weeks for the past few months. Oh, they have their routine. They stay here for a few days, then load some stuff - mostly food, water and the like, from what I could see - and they go again. I dunno where they go, because there's nothing much around here. They wouldn't have time to go very far, but if they go to Australia or New Zealand, why take so long?» He shrugged, unaware of the spark that had lit in Biggles' eyes.

The lad's question was a good one and indeed, it made little sense for a cargo ship to follow such a schedule. Where was it going then, when it left its mooring? Biggles had a feeling that the answer to that question would bring him a lot closer to the information he sought - and possibly, closer to the schematics of the Espadon themselves.

Unless he was mistaken, and the _Schattenjäger_ was simply involved in some smuggling or other such business. But what would von Stalhein be doing with them in that case? He had fallen low, but not so low as to associate himself with that sort of outlaws. Besides, his specialty was intelligence, and he would find employment where his talents would be put to uses. He was too vain not to do so. Yes, the more Biggles thought about it, the more he was certain that the _Schattenjäger_was the key.

«What about the crew? Does it take many people to man a ship of that size?»

«Oh, not many,» the lad said, shaking his head vigorously. «There's a dozen of them, maybe. Not very nice guys, either. Some foreigners, dunno where from. They got angry once because I was looking at the ship. As if it was hurting anything!»

There was probably nothing more to be learnt in the vicinity, but Biggles stayed a little longer while John told him about some of the other ships. He was not interested much in them, but did not want to kindle the boy's curiousity too much by asking only about that one boat, so he was careful to ask some pointed questions about the other vessels as well. When eventually John ran out of ships to talk of, Biggles took his leave. A glance at his watch told him that it was more than time to have some lunch.

* * *

><p>The fresh breeze of the early morning was long since gone and forgotten, especially on the tarmac where there were no trees to cast their shadow on the burning asphalt. The air quivered with the heat, and although Algy had only been walking he was sweating profusely. He looked around and found the Catalina still waiting where they had left her. Ginger was walking around the machine with a lad, and the two of them talked animatedly together with more gesticulations than the heat should allow.<p>

Unwilling to go anywhere near them, Algy went to the covering that served as terminus and looked around, relieved to find that it was just a little less warm under the shade. He recognized the man in charge of customs who had greeted them the day before, and walked slowly towards him. He did not seem very much busy at the moment. When he looked up, he immediately recognized Algy.

«Well,» he said. «If it isn't our weary traveller from the other side of the world. How do you like Port-Vila?»

«At the risk of saying something that isn't very original, it's a little warm for me,» said Algy with a smile. «Apart from that it's nice enough. Everyone is pretty friendly.»

The customs chief nodded. «Yes, I'm content enough to live here. It may not be very rewarding, professionally speaking - most of the actual smuggling is rather done by seas, really - but I don't mind. Anyway - is there anything I can do for you?»

«Not really, no. I just came to see the planes.»

«Is that so?» The customs chief asked, looking vaguely amused. «You are just like my older son, then. Look at that - the little rascal already managed to get someone to show him around that Catalina.»

«Well, it is a nice plane,» said Algy casually.

The customs chief shook his head slowly. «Well, I'm beginning to wonder, really. I don't see what this plane has that makes it so exceptional, but between my son, you and that other fellow...»

«What other fellow?» Algy asked, perhaps a little too sharply. When he saw the strange look the customs chief gave him, he forced himself to add casually, «another plane enthusiast, perhaps?»

«Oh, I don't really know... it was some foreign chap. But since he mostly asked about the pilot and crew, I doubt he was much interested in the plane itself. I gather he wanted a lift or something of the sort.»

«Probably,» Algy said affably. He wondered if he could afford to ask some more about this foreign man, but almost immediately decided against it. He did not really need to in any case, to know almost for certain that it must be von Stalhein or one of his men. It looked like their wily enemy had had a busy morning. Algy resolved not to climb into the Catalina again before it had been thoroughly checked ; von Stalhein was certainly not above sabotage.

Ginger had finished talking to the boy and was now walking away, and Algy saw his chance to speak with him discreetly. He took his leave from the customs chief as quickly as courtesy would allow, and walked briskly in the same direction Ginger had, anxious to catch up with him.

Ginger very nearly yelped when Algy pulled discreetly at his sleeve, and he glared at him, but his mind was as quick as ever and he followed him to a more isolated place. That was not very hard to find, the airport being a little away from town, and not many people went that way. As the customs chief had said, most of the island's dealings with the exterior were done by seas.

«So what's up?» Ginger asked.

«Too much to tell now,» replied Algy with a glance at his watch. It would soon be time to eat. «In a few words, we've found a warehouse that may belong to our friends, and we've identified a ship which we think is linked to this whole business, the Schattenjäger. And von Stalhein, or a friend of his, has been asking questions about the Catalina and its crew.»

Ginger grimaced. «Ouch. That's not good.»

«No, indeed. I think it is more imperative than ever that we keep a close eye on our machine. And for god's sake, don't fly it without checking it thoroughly first.»

«Will do.»

«And you, learnt anything?»

«Nothing quite so exciting. We found out the name of the owner of the plane, but I suppose Bertie told you that.»

«Bertie?» asked Algy, very surprised. «Why would he have told me anything?»

«He was supposed to meet you at the hotel. You haven't seen him?»

«I left the hotel a good while ago.» And, as Ginger opened his mouth, «I know, I know, I was supposed to stay there, but I saw von Stalhein going out. It was too good an opportunity to pass up. Anyway, we'd better be going. I'm to meet Biggles at one for lunch. By the way, he said you and Bertie should remain out of sight as much as possible. Von Stalhein may or may not have spotted you already, but the more he wonders where you are and what you're doing, the better.»

Ginger sighed. «All right, but it's a bit of a bother, really. We've got to be careful whenever we get in or out of the hotel, and we have to eat either in our rooms or outside instead of the dining room - all because of von Stalhein. It's a trifle annoying.»

Algy grinned. «Well, you can tell him that when we arrest him and those thugs who employ him.»

«Ha!» Ginger snorted. «Who're you kidding? Even Biggles never managed to get him arrested in all these years... I rather doubt he will this time.»

«He never really tried,» retorted Algy dryly. «In any case, I'll see you later.»

* * *

><p>Algy met Biggles as planned at the hotel, in the lobby. Bertie and Ginger must have chosen to eat outside, for there was no sign of them - nor of von Stalhein. Whatever he was doing at the moment must be keeping him busy.<p>

They found a table in the corner, at the perfect place to benefit from the feeble breeze that blew through the open French doors of the dining-room. Having ordered some sea-food and drinks, they were able to recapitulate the events of the morning.

«From what we found out so far,» said Biggles, «it seems likely that the role of the _Schattenjäger_is to supply the secret base where our friends do their experiments. What I don't really understand is, what is von Stalhein doing here? Somehow I don't see him going on holiday, but what else could he be doing here?»

«Maybe he's here to oversee the supply process,» Algy suggested. «Or perhaps he wants to keep an eye on things and make sure no one is prowling around asking too many questions.»

«Like us, for instance?»

«For instance,» Algy nodded, and his eyes crinkled in amusement.

«You might well be right,» said Biggles thoughtfully. «In any case, I think we should send Bertie and Ginger to take a look around in the Catalina, see if they can notice anything suspicious going on. There are plenty of desert atolls around here, which could make perfect hiding places.»

Algy was only half-convinced by the idea. «But it's more likely that they'll be spotted by the enemy than the other way round. If that base we're looking for is well-enough camouflaged - and we can assume it'll be, considering von Stalhein has a hand in all this - then it's very unlikely Ginger and Bertie will see anything.»

«I know, but we have to try it. The only other way is by boat, and that would take time - probably more time than we can afford. There are hundreds of these atolls, not even considering the possibility that some of them may not appear on any charts. By the time we've explored them all, our enemies will have long finished whatever experiments they're conducting.»

«Well...» Algy remained thoughtful for a moment. «What if we stowed away on the _Schattenjäger_? They would take us directly where we want to go, at least if you're right about it being von Stalhein's supply ship.»

Biggles let out a brief laugh. «For a moment I thought it was Ginger talking. It's not as easy to stow away as it is said to be in books. For starters we don't even know how long it will take to reach that base, and I don't see us surviving three or four days without water. That's assuming we managed to get onboard - not to mention it is highly unlikely we would manage to remain hidden all the way. I don't mind some danger - it is unavoidable in our line of work - but I do dislike excessive risks. We wouldn't even have reasonable chances of pulling off that stunt.»

«Maybe so, but there's no other way to follow that ship without being spotted. A plane would be impossible to hide, especially in this cloudless sky, and another ship, assuming we managed to lay our hands on one that quickly, would be more than conspicuous. We'd need a submarine, and I don't think there's one nearby.»

«Hence the need for a recce with the Catalina. If Bertie and Ginger don't find anything, then it'll be time to think of other alternatives. Who knows, maybe one of us will have had a stroke of genius by then.»

«Look out,» Algy hissed suddenly.

Biggles followed his gaze to the entrance of the dining-room, where a familiar, stern figure had just made its appearance. Von Stalhein looked slowly around until his eyes rested directly on Biggles and Algy. Apparently satisfied, he paused no longer and found himself a table from which he could observe both the two British and the door.

Algy looked back at Biggles and raised one eyebrow, "You won't convince me to have lunch with him this time. I've been dodging around all morning and I shan't do it at lunchtime too."

"I wouldn't dream of it" Biggles smiled, and then added, "I was serious about a stroke of genius, you know. It would do us good, right now."

Algy raised an eyebrow, "Well, I'm sorry to disappoint. I do have a stroke of formality, though. Have you reported to your CO yet?"

"I've only just got here! The radio transmissions aren't secure, as you know..." Biggles looked pained but seemed mollified when Algy smiled and intimated he'd only been teasing.

"Once you've finished trying to be funny, you can tell me what you're going to do this afternoon."

Algy shrugged, "It's a tossup between lounging here or keeping an eye on von Stalhein. If that man had any sense he'd arrange himself comfortably nearby - preferably near the watering hole - and let me sit civilly next to him."

Biggles smiled, "I cannot help but be scared by the picture you portray - two very busy, intelligent men, lounging about next to a pool. That last time we tried that, you and I ended up fighting for Spain, remember?"

"I think it was after that- though I remember that time well too." Algy rejoined. "I think I almost ended up marrying that princess. Why do I always end up nearly married?"

* * *

><p>Bertie had been almost dozing off when a looming shadow awoke him. "You got a reason fer lying down under her?" The speaker- interrogator- was tall and thin, brown and a little wild looking.<p>

"I do, actually." Bertie said, pleasantly, "It was the nearest shade when I came over all faint, and my friends left me to go off and find help- they were looking at your craft when it happened."

The man relaxed slightly, sitting next to Bertie. "Crook, are you? Well, don't go being sick on me, is all I can say. Those friends of yours, they pilots?"

Bertie bought time on answering the second by focusing on the first.

"Crook? I'm not a thief, if that's what you mean. I think it's a touch of sun."

The pilot - Brownie - frowned, then tipped back his head and laughed. "Och. You thought I meant a robber? Here crook is sick, instead. Like crook as a dog?" Bertie's face showed no recognition and Brownie shook his head. "For all your vaunted English you don't speak much, do you? Not proper, I mean."

"Well, I speak how I learnt back home." Bertie tried, apologetically. "My friends, they were wondering if they could get a look around from you. I think they had the thought of a sort of flying tour, if you were willing. I know they'd pay you well for it."

"They will, will they?"

Bertie nodded. "They want to get an overview of the area, you see, instead of pottering about in boats." He shook his head sadly, "The joys of the sea are lost on them, I fear, like I don't understand their air obsession."

Brownie nodded, "Well, if they can be here by 9am, I'll give them a lift. I'm going up anyway."

"They'd like that. I'll tell them. Thank you." Bertie levered himself upright slowly. "I can see them coming along now- I'll go and let them know and get that drink."

Brownie watched him go then beckoned John over to him. "John."

"Yeah, Mr Rainbow?"

"Pop over to _Schattenjäger _and tell them I'll be taking some men over to their destination tomorrow. Ask them if there's anything they want taken over there."

"Sure thing." The boy ran off to the ship and Brownie watched him approach the guards with a small smile. John was a good nipper - didn't ask too many questions and was always up for something.

Smiling, said nipper ran back over. "They say there's nothing they want taken but if he wants to land that's fine- they'll have a party to welcome them. Can't I come too, sir?"

"No lad and you'd prefer to sail, anyway."

"That's true, sir." John looked longingly back towards the _Schattenjäger _and smiled gratefully when Brownie dismissed him.

* * *

><p>Bertie met Biggles as he left the hotel. «Brownie will give you two a ride- 0900- tomorrow. He thinks I've got airsickness. Where are you going to?"<p>

"Checking a list of people and warehouses Algy got me. Where's Ginger?"

Bertie shrugged. "Last time I heard- Algy said- he was at the airport. Where is the dog, anyway?"

"Lounging with von Stalhein by the pool." Biggles spoke with a straight face though his eyes twinkled.

"You can't be serious, old boy!" Bertie looked shocked.

"Deadly." Biggles assured him. "It's far too hot for a cold-blooded man like Erich von Stalhein to be running around organising things and Algy thought he'd chat with him - or at least, keep an eye on him. I don't think it will be much of a problem in this weather if tempers flare and they end up tossing each other in the pool."

Bertie's eyes widened. "You think there's a chance of that?"

Biggles smiled. "Would you trust those two in a room without predicting a fight? Now I need to go and hunt down these men. We'll catch up later this evening."

Bertie nodded. "Is there anything else I can do?"

"Keep your ears out and listening in town - maybe go and have a few glasses at a drinking hole."


	4. In the Enemy's Lair

**A/N : There's some editing to do still, but if I waited until that was finished, I'd never post this story. So here goes. Due credit to Shirley who beta-read this story (I haven't finished going over her corrections, so whatever mistakes are left are probably things she pointed out and I haven't corrected yet). But, hey, we all have a busy life. **

**Thanks also to all who review, it's much appreciated.  
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**And finally, please note this story is going to be twenty chapters long. Myra and I are still working on the sequel (already fifty pages and it feels like we're barely getting started...)  
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* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 4<strong>** - In the enemy's lair**

Ginger ended up having a bite to eat with Harry and his mother - an amazing lady whom everyone looked up to - before continuing his way back to the hotel in the cooler afternoon.

He almost laughed as he snuck in through the back gate and just missed von Stalhein's deck chair. Quickly he dropped to his knees and peered around the plants till he could see properly.

Sleeves rolled up and feet crossed at the ankle the super- spy didn't look very scary. Mind you, neither did the two other men, in their brightly coloured shirts and shorts and sandals. Algy had his eyes closed, probably against the glare of the sun, and Biggles was half following his example, keeping half an eye on von Stalhein, who seemed prepared to enjoy the afternoon.

It made Ginger a little twitchy, but he was happy to be able to use the front door, so slithered off.

He'd wanted a dip but decided a quick wash in his room would be safer.

* * *

><p>"You didn't see what I just did, did you old boy?"<p>

Algy frowned, squinting up at Biggles with one eye. "I've got my eyes shut. We haven't lost our friend, have we?"

"No, though I rather thought we'd gained a new one for a minute. I could have sworn I saw Ginger underneath von Stalhein's chair."

"So long as the charge he planted isn't so big it means I get covered in gore, I don't mind." Algy decided, quirking on eyebrow in the German's area and checking he was still there.

"We had a nice talk, him and I. I offered to teach him to swim but that didn't cut the ice - turns out we're both quite interested in the Bach family though. It saved things getting to awkward."

Biggles looked at him. "You aren't advocating the man is human, are you?"

"Nothing of the sort. But I had to pass the time somehow. And I wasn't the one who offered him dinner, was I?"

* * *

><p>Ginger was leaving again - a long soak in cool water had completely revived him - when he came face to face with Bertie, sneaking along the corridor looking very conspicuous.<p>

"What are you up to?" He hissed, "I thought you were down on the wharf, with the plane."

Bertie followed him inside and snatched up a towel, wiping his face with it before sinking back on the bed and answering. "I stayed there for a long time - Biggles came and went but eventually I caught up with this Brownie fellow. He's going to give the other two a lift over there tomorrow morning - 9 sharp. I'm not so easy about it but the other two - well, I actually only talked to Biggles but you know what Algy's like - are rapt. Don't know why, it's sure to be a trap. These men have been down here for month, I gather."

Ginger nodded, looking troubled as he tugged an unruly curl on the nape of his neck. "They're nothing if not crazy. If you or I had tried that..." He thought for a moment. "There's no sign of another plane which we can follow them in, you know, unless we take ours. And Biggles won't hear of it coming unstuck unless we absolutely have to."

Bertie raised his eyebrows but shrugged, "Of course they wouldn't see very probably being shot to death as spies as an emergency, so long as they can get the information out first."

"You know what he says," Ginger assented, "They're soldiers and the mission comes first."

"Which is all very well, but it still relies on us getting the information out of them somehow. Well, no doubt Biggles has a plan. What have you been up to since you took the little blighter to look around?"

Ginger related there'd been people snooping around asking similar questions, and that he'd met up with Algy, "Who seems far too happy with all of this. I'm sure he's got some knowledge we haven't. He's sure we'll end up arresting von Stalhein and his cronies."

Bertie shrugged, "Well, they've been working together since 1916, remember. There's plenty of couples haven't stayed together that long."

"They aren't a couple," Ginger pointed out, "which is why they managed it, probably."

* * *

><p>"Shall we repeat the dinner exercise we had last night, Mr Stahl?" Biggles asked cordially, standing over the reclining figure opposite them.<p>

"Tempting though that is, I have a meeting I must attend in town. I shall no doubt see you later, though, gentlemen."

Von Stalhein stood and bowed, striding out of the enclosure.

"Well, I'll catch up with you later then, Biggles. If I'm not awake by 8 for goodness' sake don't send Ginger in to wake me up." Algy started off before Biggles managed to catch his shoulder.

"You are going to follow him," Biggles said in a flat voice, once he'd caught up.

"That's the general idea. After all, I'm his personal shadow. Perhaps you'd like to join Ginger and Bertie, to let them know the rest of the story?"

Nodding, Biggles left, muttering about people who showed initiative. He couldn't complain when the orders being carried out were his own, though. At least he'd given Algy a general run - down of the warehouses in the area. He'd have some idea of where he was going, surely.

* * *

><p>Von Stalhein, clearly sure he was being followed, dodged and turned as much as he could before getting into a taxi. It wasn't that Algy had had particularly a lot of practise as a child; rather he'd learnt to follow in war-skies in planes made from the scrap which could be found hanging around the shed. It stood him in good stead now as he caught a ride on a rickshaw, which could follow easily through the streets and side-turns the taxi took, and could keep up through virtue of the crowded streets and low horsepower of said vehicle.<p>

Algy bid the driver of the Rickshaw to continue past the drop-point of von Stalhein and paid him off around the corner, before reverting to following on his own feet.

The German had disappeared but there was a small chink of light coming from a boarded up window near where the taxi had stopped. Algy flickered along the wall near it and managed to catch voices - often the very familiar (no matter which language he happened to be speaking) one of von Stalhein.

Most of their conversation was in what he concluded was Russian, though there was a bit in German when another man entered. Algy could follow that well enough, though the translating of the words and their actual meaning was a little different in the circumstance.

The general gist seemed to involve, when in German, the movement of people, while the Russian he could only guess at. Algy was just beginning to think the whole thing was a waste of his time when he heard another tread and another new voice, speaking English with an accent peculiar to the colonies.

"So you're sure yer want 'em ter come along with me tomorrer?" Algy frowned; sure his ears were growing to elephantine proportions as he strained to hear more.

"I am sure." The coldness was all von Stalhein,

"And I'm ter land and drop 'em. Will I be refuelling there or coming straight back?"

"Carry as much fuel as you can. There may be company- they flew in as we know, so one or the other may turn up and the other follow you instead. I wouldn't put it past them."

Algy grinned to himself. Not a bad plan, but again it overlooked their main reason to come here - to gather information.

"Right, well yer can expect them ter be on that island o'yers bout quarter-to, or ten o'clock."

The steps receded again and Algy slipped out soon afterwards, when there were more boot-movements on the stairs.

He reported straight back to Biggles, who was in his own room staring at the ceiling.

"Well, at least we know what his orders were regarding fuel," Biggles decided, struggling up on his bed, "Any questions or would you like a drink?"

Grinning, Algy passed a drink to Biggles, took one himself and waved his hand to indicate his companion should make room for him on the bed.

The next morning Algy and Biggles breakfasted early and headed down to the wharf. "Bertie is right. This is probably a trap," Algy commented, more for something to say than because he thought it contestable.

"It's a good lead, though, and solves the problem of stowing away for days without sustenance," Biggles pointed out.

"Unless they land us on an island and leave us. Then we'd be worse off than before."

"But we have the advantage of knowledge and surprise - Bertie was very careful to intimate we had only a passing experience with planes. Brownie doesn't know we can easily overpower him and do what we like."

"So long as there's enough fuel. I'd like to know that much, at least. Remind me to drop it into the conversation if I can," Algy concluded, as they turned into the appropriate walkway. «We're lucky that von Stalhein didn't tell Brownie much about us at all. Or at least, I don't think he did." There was just a tinge of anxiety in his voice.

«Being a spy, he's naturally overly cautious what he says and to whom,» said Biggles with a discreet smile. He spoke lower as they arrived in sight of the plane. «That's not what worries me most, really. I'd feel a lot better if we had a means to get in touch with Bertie and Ginger. But this is an opportunity we just cannot pass up, no matter our misgivings... hush now, I see Brownie coming our way.»

Algy's head turned sharply to find the other man coming their way indeed. He greeted them with a cheerful, carefree smile. Algy would have felt badly for involving him in their troubles, had he not heard what he had the day before. As it was, the pilot's amiable attitude put him doubly on his guard.

«So, you're the guys who want a tour in me plane, heh?»

«That's right,» answered Biggles pleasantly. «And we're grateful for the opportunity. We love flying, and we so seldom have the occasion...»

«What, are there no planes in England? Surely you can afford a tour every now and then?»

«Not all that often. We live in London, and then we have other obligations that leave us little free time. That's why we're so keen on taking advantage of this holiday to fly.»

«Well, you're welcome to it... though you might be disappointed. There's not much to see, up there, except a vast sheet of water.»

«That's what we like about flying - the immensity of an empty sky,» Biggles replied, never caught at a disadvantage.

«All right then, everyone in t'plane! We'll be taking off shortly.»

Brownie climbed up first and slid himself in the pilot's seat. Biggles naturally picked the copilot's seat (for the view, as he put it innocently) and Algy found himself a seat in the back of the machine. A moment later, the plane was gliding on the sparkling blue ocean, white foam spurting in its wake. Algy felt a familiar excitement in his chest as the little machine finally hauled itself from the pull of gravity and slowly gained height, soon leaving the harbour and the island behind.

It ascended sharply at first, then gradually more evenly, and it glided easily on its right wing until the island was again in sight, to their right. Algy marvelled to see it already so small and distant. He had not so often taken off from an island, and his perception of distances was different with the wide ocean all around them. The fact that there were only very few clouds, when any at all, added to his disorientation, for he was used to using them as points of reference.

«So, where are we going?» Biggles asked casually. For a moment Algy thought it was a mistake, until he realized it would have been more suspicious not to ask.

«Some way north, north-west-north,» Brownie informed them. «As I told your friend, I had to go up anyway, so I'm really just sticking to my schedule. You'll like it though, it's more interesting this way - plenty of atolls and islands. Back south there's nothing at all between Port-Vila and Australia or New Zealand.»

«It's fine by us. We didn't really have any direction we wanted to go,» Biggles assured him, while pretending not to notice that Brownie had, in fact, neatly evaded the question. «It's a very nice plane you have here. Small but fairly powerful. I'm no expert, but I like it. What can you tell us about it?»

«Oh, it's not a new machine, by far, but I take very good care of her.» Brownie genuinely glowed with pride. «People say things about planes and old models, but the truth is, if you keep them in a good enough shape, they'll never let you down. Not like women.» He spoke off-handedly, but there was a shade of something underlying his tone that suggested he said so out of bitter experience.

Algy saw his chance, both to get the information he wanted and to change topics. «So what can she carry? And what's her range?»

«How much she can carry, it depends on how far you want to go... but she'll carry easily a dozen people - as far as weight goes, because as you can see there's no room for that many people. And there's a small storage unit in the back for any cargo I need to carry. And her range, depending on the weather and how heavy she is and a number of other things will be around five hundred kilometers. Right now her tanks are full, so she's a bit heavier, but don't worry, there's no risk of us getting stuck. She could easily go as far as Australia - and she has.»

«Not bad,» appreciated Algy. «But a long range is necessary I assume, when living on an island. Emergency landings must not be a lot of fun.»

«Yes and no,» Brownie shrugged. «If it happened - and really it has, once or twice - I'd be stuck in the middle of nowhere, granted, but at least I'd be sure not to hit a tree or a car or something. And I've got a radio anyway.»

«So what happened when you had to land? Did you call someone on the radio?»

Brownie's eyes crinkled in a malicious smile. «The first time, I was able to repair on my own. The second time I was stuck good, and out of range of radio contact. I was lucky enough that a ship came by soon after, and that the weather was nice at that time.»

«And here I thought nothing ever happened in a place like this,» Biggles remarked. «But I guess being a pilot is never completely free of danger.»

«But worth it every inch of the way,» answered Brownie proudly.

They kept talking of nothing and everything in the hour that followed. Experienced pilots, Algy and Biggles knew exactly what questions to ask to keep the conversation running, and they spoke mostly of planes and flying. It kept them from having to say anything about their personal lives, but it also was a little frustrating at times to pretend they knew nothing or almost nothing about planes, when they had spent more time in the air than on the ground.

After some time, as mid- to late morning was beginning to loom closer, Brownie began to focus less on the conversation and more on the sea under them. He was obviously looking for landmarks, and seemed to find them after a while. He looked to his right at Biggles.

«Well, we're getting close to our destination. I need to get down for a little while, and then we'll get back.»

«Really?» Biggles squinted down at the sea. It was hard to see because of the sunlight reflecting intensely on the water. «Where are we landing?»

«This atoll, there - the bigger one. You can't really see the landing strip from here, but don't worry, I know exactly where it is. I could make a sea landing, but this way we won't have to swim ashore. We'll just need to circle a little and lose height - I'm flying a bit too high still. And maybe we'll have lunch there, if you feel like it.»

«Actually, I think not,» Biggles said softly. He must have carefully located the atoll in question, as had Algy, who felt confident he could find it again. He had not thought Biggles would make his move so early, but he was right - there was really no reason to risk a landing.

Brownie, on the other hand, looked completely taken aback. Either he had truly expected nothing of the sort, or he was a better actor than Algy would have given him credit for. «What on earth do you mean?» he asked, straightening up from the controls to stare at Biggles - Algy was too far behind him for him to comfortably crane his neck towards him. «I told you I was following my schedule -"

«And I have no doubt of that,» Biggles cut him pleasantly. «But we've just made a change in that schedule. I think you must have an idea why, and if you truly don't, then I'll be glad to explain when we're back to Port-Vila.»

«You're crazy,» Brownie asserted, with a dismissive shrug. «Look, I'm landing, and you're certainly not going to stop me. I'm the one who can pilot that plane, remember.»

«We'll be glad to take the stick if need be. Now turn away.»

«And what if I don't?»

«We'll make you.»

«I'd like to see you try that,» the pilot scoffed. «Not without making us crash, you won't.»

«You seem to forget I'm sitting in the copilot's seat,» Biggles said, a little more harshly. «Algy can hold you down, why I take control of the plane. It's as simple as that. Now, are you going to do as we say, or are you going to be difficult and risk all of us crashing?»

«You bandits - I certainly won't -" Brownie began furiously, but Algy stood up and in a stride was behind his seat.

«You're one to talk... besides, you really have no choice,» he said in a quiet, low voice. «Rest assured that if we have to take control of the plane by force, it won't look good for you. Don't bother resisting - there are two of us, and we're both good pilots, let me assure you.»

«Well - I -" Brownie trailed off, and seemed to be considering his options. He really had no choice, and Algy saw his shoulders tense as the realization sank in.

«Enough,» Biggles said. «We've lost enough time. Get up and step back now. That's the last time I'll ask."

Brownie hesitated for a long moment, but after a while it looked like he was going to be reasonable and obey, angry though he was to have to submit.

«This is quite enough, gentlemen.» The voice, cold and familiar, rang out from the back of the plane.

Algy froze. For a handful of seconds, he wondered if it could have been a hallucination. It had to. But before he had time to convince himself of that, he heard the voice again.

«Keep still, Lacey. And you, Bigglesworth - step back. Just one step, mind you.»

In spite of the order he had been given, Algy looked back. He really could not stop himself - nor could he quite believe his eyes when he saw von Stalhein standing less than two meters back. The sheer impossibility of their enemy's appearance out of thin air was such a shock that for what felt like the longest moment, he was not able to put two thoughts together. He just could not wrap his mind around that gap in logic.

Biggles looked just as stunned as him, and a small smile played on von Stalhein's lips as he saw how successfully he had tricked them.

«I must admit you're the last person I expected to see here,» Biggles said when he had recovered from the initial shock. «Do you have some hidden powers of dissimulation? Or -" his gaze drifted to the storage unit Brownie had mentioned early. Its door was still half-open.

«Step back, Bigglesworth.» Von Stalhein may be vain and enjoy his little success, but he was no fool, nor was he losing track of the situation. «I would advise against trying anything. You know I am a good shot, and I could hardly miss you at such a distance. Or I might shoot Lacey. I suspect that threat would be more effective than one directed at yourself.»

Biggles recognized the seriousness of the threat and slowly, without any sudden move, he extricated himself from the copilot's seat.

«Sit on the floor,» von Stalhein commanded. «You too, Lacey.»

Sitting down would make it that much harder to try anything - such as leaping at von Stalhein and taking the gun from him - but there was no way out of it. No bulletproof way, in any case. Algy and Biggles had to recognize it, and they obeyed without a fuss.

«Now, Mr. Rainbow, land this plane, if you would,» von Stalhein said coolly.

«All right,» Brownie said nervously. He cast frequent looks over his shoulders, clearly ill-at-ease with having someone with a gun standing behind him, even when that someone was one of his employers.

Algy slid a glance at Brownie, but there was obviously nothing to expect from him; even putting aside any issue of morality, the man was scared stiff, and not keen on getting involved any deeper than he already was. Algy wondered if he had known about von Stalhein being in the storage unit. He certainly had looked as surprised as his passengers when the German had showed up.

«So, you decided to get a lift to your base,» Biggles observed. Apparently he had decided that small talk was a good idea, though von Stalhein was a dour companion at best. But, Algy thought, it might allow them to gather more information, and perhaps get the German to lower his guard.

«That was not what I planned initially,» von Stalhein admitted. «But after due consideration I decided to take no chances.»

«So it was all a trap, from the beginning.»

«Certainly not.» To Algy's meager satisfaction, von Stalhein sounded a little annoyed. «You were not supposed to show up, and if I had known you would, I would not have been anywhere in the vicinity. But since you were there - and as usual, getting involved in other people's affairs, you forced me to act.»

«You're the one who always gets tangled in any fishy business that comes our way,» Biggles complained light-heartedly. «If you chose your employers better, we would not be in this situation.»

Brownie was looking over his shoulder again. «You... you all know each other?» he asked timidly. «Nevermind,» he added hastily when three blank stares were directed at him.

«Oh, we're old friends,» Biggles said with a smile that showed a little too many teeth. Von Stalhein scowled.

Brownie could certainly take a hint, and he said nothing more. Besides, he had to focus on his piloting as the plane had descended quite low and was now beginning its final approach. No matter what else he could be, Brownie was definitely a good pilot. But even the best pilot could not keep his plane entirely steady while landing, especially such a small machine.

Biggles had been watching for it, and he had given Algy a discreet sign. When the plane suddenly lurched a little to the right and von Stalhein stumbled, they were both ready. Biggles dashed forward, aiming for the gun, and Algy got ready to tackle von Stalhein. They were just a little too far. If the German had been standing fifty centimetres closer, they might have made it. As it was, a bullet whizzed past Biggles' cheek. His momentum cut off, he looked back anxiously to see if Algy had been hit, and Algy gave a little wave that he was fine. The occasion was lost, however.

«Get back, Bigglesworth,» von Stalhein said. Frosty did not even begin to describe his tone. «You are quite lucky that you were not hit, or your dear friend Lacey. Another attempt might yield more woeful results.»

«Well, I know when I'm beaten,» Biggles said genially. Algy saw the fire in his eyes though, and he knew there was still hope. They had been in much more desperate situations than this. Then he looked at von Stalhein, and wondered how he could have missed them - both of them. He was quite a nifty shot, as he had reminded them only minutes earlier. But what had he said... _you are lucky that you were not hit_. Not, _you are lucky that I missed you_. He had not missed - his aim had been off on purpose. Algy filed the information away, though he was not sure yet what it could mean.

The plane was still descending, but when Algy sneaked a glance towards Brownie, he could not fail to notice how pale and sweaty he looked, even from a distance, nor how shaky his hands were on the stick. The gunshot seemed to have wracked his nerves badly.

A moment later they touched down, and slowed quickly. The landing was not as smooth on the ground as it would have been on the sea, but it was not too bumpy. Unfortunately. Then the plane stopped, its engines were cut off, and for a moment the sudden silence was deafening.

«Now what?» Biggles asked calmly.

«Stand up,» von Stalhein commanded. «Open the hatch and get down. I'll be right behind you.» It was as much a threat as a promise.

«I'm sure,» said Biggles wryly, but he obeyed, moving slowly and carefully. He opened the hatch and jumped down. Algy followed, almost stumbling as he did so, his limbs stiff and numb after hours spent motionless. Von Stalhein came after them, with feline ease though he too looked a little stiff. It must not have been comfortable, spending such a long time without being able to move for fear of making the lightest sound, but Algy was not in a sympathetic mood - and if he had been, he would have kept it for someone more deserving of it.

A fresh, salty breeze brushed his face, and Algy took this first occasion to look around him. The first impression he got was that this atoll was less than hospitable. Rocky and steep, the landing strip they had landed on was pretty much the only flat area of the atoll, and by far the most welcoming. Algy wondered what on earth they could be doing there - it certainly did not look like a secret facility at first glance - but then a small group of people appeared, seemingly out of thin air. When he squinted in their direction, Algy realized that they had in fact come from something that looked like a camouflaged hangar. A very well camouflaged hangar.

The newcomers had now arrived close enough for him to get a better look at them. There were five of them. It was hard to tell what their rank or title might be, for four of them wore a simple grey uniform, with markings unknown to Algy. Of these, two appeared to be officers, considering that their uniforms were a little more elaborated. The one who led the way certainly had the quiet authority of someone accustomed to be obeyed. It was impossible to tell his nationality in one glance, for he had brown hair and eyes and ordinary features, but the fifth man, who wore simple civilian clothes, had blond hair and blue eyes, and high cheekbones, that gave him a definitely slavish look.

The leader stopped a few steps from them and addressed von Stalhein in what sounded like Russian. He definitely seemed to be unhappy about something - perhaps Biggles' and Algy's presence. At some point the officer gave his men a sharp nod, and Algy noticed then that they were carrying rifles - and that those were not aimed far off from the prisoners, either. But von Stalhein spoke persuasively and at length, and eventually the officer shrugged.

«В то время как вы хотите,» he said. «Но я не люблю эту ситуацию.»

Von Stalhein turned to face his two prisoners. «You are going to be taken to a holding cell,» he said. «I strongly advise against any antics, if you wish to live a little longer.»

A sharp order in Russian got the two soldiers ready to escort the British. Von Stalhein must have impressed on them the threat posed by the prisoners, for they watched them closely and never got too near.

«Wait,» Biggles said. «May I ask what is intended for us? You'll understand, I hope, my curiousity.»

«Not much, if you are lucky,» von Stalhein replied dryly.

«Nothing pleasant, if you do not behave,» the Russian officer said with a heavy accent. He sounded like someone who seriously lacked a sense of humour.

«So long as we're in good company,» Biggles murmurred wryly.

«You'll have to be content with each other's company,» von Stalhein said sourly.

He too could use a sense of humour, Algy thought. Or at least a less snarky one.

Aware that there was nothing they could do at the moment, neither he nor Biggles resisted when they were taken to a cell.

* * *

><p><strong>AN : I wasn't sure whether I should translate the russian, since we're seeing the scene from Algy and Biggles' point of view and they wouldn't understand it. But if anyone's curious, it means "As you wish for now, but I don't like this situation".**


	5. The Softest Landing

**Chapter 5**** - The Softest Landing  
><strong>

Ginger was not as young and excitable as he had once been, but patience was no more his strong suit now than it had been then. He spent most of the morning pacing like a wild beast in a cage, repeating on various occasions that they never should have let Biggles and Algy follow suit with their plan. He repeated it so often that Bertie got tired of it and took Harriet out for a little tune.

«Stop!» Ginger begged. «We're not supposed to be conspicuous, remember. If von Stalhein hears that awful noise, he'll know you're here - and, _in extenso_, that _I_ am here.»

«Well, I don't know,» Bertie said thoughtfully. «If dear old von Stalhein passed by, he'd see you pacing and hear you ranting, so I'm really just covering up for you.»

«They've been gone for hours. It'll be noon in twenty minutes.»

«And you've been worrying for the past three hours.»

«Aren't you worried?»

«I might be, but I don't inflict it on others.»

«They should be back already.»

«They have plenty of time left.»

«If they get in trouble, they have no way to call for our help.»

«Which makes worrying pretty pointless.»

With a groan of frustration, Ginger let himself drop on the bed. «I just hate it that there's nothing we can do. I hate being useless, and I hate having nothing to do.»

«Oh, I see,» Bertie said airily. «You're not worried, you're bored.»

«Both.» Ginger looked longingly out the window. «I wish we could take a swim, and we have to stay cooped up in this darn bedroom! I'll go crazy if I have to stay here one hour more.»

Bertie snorted. «I'll go crazy if I have to stay here with you one hour more.»

Ginger jumped to his feet and twirled around to face the door. «So let's go out and take a walk in town. Maybe we can find something out.»

«But what if Biggles gets back in the meantime?»

Ginger crunched his face, obviously having not thought of it. «Well...»

«Never mind; you go, I'll stay.»

«You're sure?»

«Oh, yes.» Bertie lay back on the bed. «It's exhausted me to watch you pacing in such heat. Go and have a quick stroll and get back in one hour or so to have lunch.»

Ginger did as Bertie had suggested, and although he found out nothing of interest, his walk downtown at least had the advantage of relaxing him a little. But after lunch and as hours passed by with no sign of either Biggles or Algy returning, even the phlegmatic Bertie began to betray more and more of his worry. Around mid-afternoon, Ginger had given up on pacing, and was instead sprawled on his bed, looking idly out the window. It was Bertie's turn to find the wait a little long for his taste.

«All right old boy, we need to do something.»

Ginger gave him a mocking glance. «Aren't you the one who was advocating patience this morning?»

«That was this morning,» Bertie said pompously. «Circumstances have changed. Biggles and Algy have disappeared. I don't know how much range that plane had, but it's certainly exceeded it by now. Let's investigate.»

«And how do you suggest we do that?» Ginger asked glumly. «Biggles and Algy were on our only lead.»

«I don't quite agree. There's von Stalhein. And there's the _Schattenjäger_.»

«How do you suggest we find von Stalhein? He isn't in the hotel, or at least I haven't seen him.»

«But we know exactly where to find the _Schattenjäger_.»

Ginger shrugged, but as he had no better idea and nothing better to do, he did not protest much before he consented to accompany Bertie to the harbour to check, discreetly, on the ship. They walked down to the wharf, without talking much. Although they had different ways of showing it and dealing with it, they were both beginning to be seriously worried about the fate of their two friends. Their worry was not alleviated any when they were compelled to yield to the facts; the _Schattenjäger_ was no longer at its mooring place.

They walked briskly back to the hotel, with the vague hope to find Biggles and Algy waiting for them there - a hope that was quickly dispelled. Of von Stalhein there was no trace either. At any other time they would not have regretted the dour German's absence, but in this instance things were beginning to look quite grim indeed.

«Well, we're deserted by all our friends, or what?» Bertie said lightly, but his eyes were shadowed.

«So what do we do now?» Ginger asked, genuinely at a loss.

«There's no time for caution any more. So we'll have to do it the bold way.»

«The bold way?»

Without answering, Bertie walked to the reception where a young man was resisting - or attempting to resist - the assault of an American tourist. When the tourist was finally tended to, he turned to the two British with a forced, tense smile.

«May I be of assistance to you, sirs?»

«Well, actually,» Bertie said in his best flippant act, «we were looking for a friend of ours... a Mr. Stahl. He was supposed to meet us around this time... you wouldn't know if he's here yet, would you?»

The young man looked taken aback, and his gaze swayed from Bertie to Ginger and back to Bertie. «Well - Mr. Stahl checked out this morning.» He stared oddly at them, obviously finding it strange that their so-called friend would not even tell them he was leaving.

It was nothing compared to Bertie and Ginger's dismay. They were completely stuck; they had no idea where Algy and Biggles could be - anywhere in a two hundred miles radius, really - and they did not have a semblance of clue how to find them again. Their two leads, weak as they were, had both disappeared without a trace.

For all intents and purposes, Algy and Biggles were lost.

* * *

><p>"Sadly that didn't work as well as we hoped it would," Algy sighed, seating himself on the ground and stretching out.<p>

Biggles, turning from his own exploration of their cell - an actual cell not a reinforced room - raised an eyebrow. "Well, we're on the island and we know where they are storing their gear," he amended Algy.

"Much good it does us, being unable to tell anyone. I know we thought it would happen but it does gall me that we didn't think to check for von Stalhein on board."

Biggles shrugged. "Even if we had found him, it would have been unlikely the outcome would be any different."

Evidently finished with his inspection he joined Algy, shoulder to shoulder, and reached for a cigarette.

"I don't suppose you've come up with a clever idea to get us out of here?" Algy asked eventually, when Biggles regretfully abandoned the cigarette and leant back against the wall again.

"The only way we can get out is through that door." Biggles stated.

* * *

><p>As one, Ginger and Bertie smiled sickly smiles and wheeled back towards the stairs, retiring to Bertie's room.<p>

"This is a nice kettle of fish and no mistake," Bertie grumbled, plopping himself down in a chair and eyeing Ginger - lolling on the bed - with disgust.

"What do we know?" Ginger spoke rhetorically, holding up a hand to list points on his fingers. "They jumped in a plane, flew wherever Brownie took them and can't get back. Brownie is in the pay of the enemy - I think we can safely assume that - and he's probably taken them there. They've been detained on that island. Now either Brownie is back, in which case we go and find out where he took them, or at least liberate his plane, or he isn't, in which case we need to take up the Catalina."

"Which they don't want us to do - and I can't say I'm keen on the idea either. A Catalina isn't much of a match for an attack aircraft and we don't know they don't have those available to them. I would, if I was out there."

Bertie was clearly weighing things up along with Ginger as he spoke, "Though there's unlikely to be much else we can do - I don't fancy the chances of them getting off that island without help."

Ginger nodded. "That's what I thought. I'll head along to Brownie's spot and see if he's back yet..." standing, he added, "Actually, will you come too, as close as he won't recognise you? There's no need to split up any more than we have already."

Bertie, already vertical, smiled a little grimly, "That's what I was thinking, old boy."

A warm, though somewhat pleasant, walk took them to the point of entry and Bertie halted there, peering around him and in windows while Ginger hurried on to inspect Brownie's mooring-spot. Peering ahead he noticed two things. Firstly, there was no sign of the plane - a blow for getting around easily. Secondly, the _Schattenjäger_ was crowded with men - and some women and boys - hauling and shouting and generally, he assumed, shipping cargo. He'd never had much contact with ships, but he could read a sour expression as easily as the next man, and the one the overseer was wearing was a particularly good example. As unobtrusively as he could, Ginger made his way back to Bertie.

"They're loading up the _Schattenjäger_, but there's not a sign of Brownie. We could follow her, tomorrow, straight there instead of searching."

Bertie considered, all the arguments Algy and Biggles had employed for and against stowing away making their way through his head. "That seems better than beetling round looking lost," he agreed, "and more comfortable than stowing away." They nodded at each other, pleased to have a plan, and as one turned back.

"I don't suppose there's any harm in eating dinner at the hotel tonight- as far as we know von Stalhein is still on that island," Ginger suggested, in great glee.

Bertie nodded, though he couldn't resist a jab about people who thought with their stomach.

* * *

><p>Algy had taken to eyeing the door as he would an actual enemy. He'd inspected the hinges - intact still - and the lock - too solid by far. He was still trying to work out if it would be possible to open it without outside help when they heard footsteps.<p>

Quickly, the two airmen dropped back to their original sitting positions, adopting stances of languor. Algy went so far as to half close his eyes, Biggles to let his head drop onto Algy's nearest shoulder. They looked for all the world as if they'd been sitting there the whole time.

"So." Their heads came up as von Stalhein entered the room. "You haven't found a way out yet. I didn't think you could."

"How do you know we haven't found a way out and haven't just back here for the food?" Algy asked snidely, not expecting a smile that wasn't forthcoming.

"It looks as if we'd be wrong in that hope" Biggles added, raising an eyebrow at the bare hands von Stalhein held by his side.

"I came to tell you," von Stalhein spoke somewhat loudly and testily, breaking up their little repartee, "that you will stay here until you may be safely moved back to a mainland - either Japan, South Africa or New Zealand, whichever should suit our purposes better. I have assured the others that dropping you alive at one of these destinations will result in a significant delay in your getting back - but that you will get back in such time that your superior officer will not be worried about your safety."

Biggles nodded. "That is true - though I wouldn't say we would take that long to get home. Wouldn't it be easier to merely let us back onto the mainland here?"

"It would not." Von Stalhein frowned. "Now you may stay here and wait until someone remembers to feed you, and then until we feel we may release you. That should be a few days away, but as no one knows you are in trouble, we are in no specific hurry." He smirked and left, shutting the door quietly behind him.

"It sounds as though he isn't aware there are people waiting for us," Algy muttered, keeping his voice low so even Biggles, sitting so close, had to strain to hear him.

"Either that or he's bluffing," Biggles agreed, just as quietly. They surely didn't want to give von Stalhein the information there were two of their gang waiting for contact from the captives, ready, no doubt, to swing into action should there be a problem.

"Well, what we really need to know is, is it worth making a run for it when we're fed, or should we await the pleasure of everyone outside these four walls."

They pondered that for a while, before Biggles opened his mouth. "As far as I see it, all we are doing by waiting is lulling them into a sense of security. While that may be useful - if we were learning about the outside while we were here, for instance - it isn't in the sense. We know how these men operate when they have a prisoner. They'll feed us at regular intervals, by the same or nearly guard, and then they will take us under guard to a vessel and move us. There's no point trying to escape then unless we know for certain there'll be someone waiting for us to do so."

Algy nodded, the times when they had employed such a pattern flicking through his head. "So the next time that door opens, we'll be through it." he confirmed. Biggles nodded. "In that case, get some sleep." Biggles sighed, but acquiesced when Algy insisted, since it was Biggles who made many of the decisions when they were on the run anyway.

* * *

><p>Ginger, alone in his room late that night, twisted and turned under his thin sheet. The sounds of guests settling for the night had died down and it seemed, in his uncomfortable state, that even the nocturnal wildlife had left. A couple of insect bites - itching like the dickens - were on his back and they refused to let him sleep.<p>

He wasn't worrying about the other two. There was something about the Algy/ Biggles team which wouldn't allow him to entertain the idea they could be beaten. Almost, perhaps, but never actually beaten.

Frustrated, Ginger kipped down next to the window, wrapping himself in a sheet. Bertie almost tripped over him the next morning when he waltzed in, keen for a cup of coffee and another trip down to see what was happening at the docks.

* * *

><p>When Algy heard the steps in the corridor, he shook Biggles awake and they prepared. There wasn't much to do - they shifted to standing near the door, Biggles against the wall, Algy standing almost in front of it, ready to hold it open.<p>

Thankfully, the soldier who came to feed them was picked for his unsuitability for more difficult tasks - he received a brisk punch from Algy in his neck, and lay still, face in the tray of stew.

Hardly had the soldier fallen before Algy was following Biggles down the corridor and out into the warm night air. Turning, they ran to where Brownie had taxied, remembering the sight of several planes there while they were being prepared. The moon was only half full, the ground unfamiliar, but the vegetation, sparse around the island anyway, helped them for once. There were no deep patches of undergrowth to deal with and they made even better progress once they were on the cleared aerodrome.

"If this thing has a key we need to get, or no fuel, I'm going to swim for it," Algy panted, wheeling with Biggles to the first plane they got to.

"Which won't help, but might make you feel better?" Biggles queried, a smile ghosting over his face.

Algy nodded, already swinging under the fuselage of the Polikarpov R-z to clamber into the seat further from the trailing edge. Biggles swung himself up, settled his vision and checked his instruments.

"Their airmen are properly trained," Algy remarked, once Biggles had put his hand on the switch, "I've got two beautiful guns with lovely rounds of ammo just waiting for trouble. What's yours like?"

"Fine, I think. Give them a burst when we're in the air. I wish we'd our goggles with us, you know." There was a roar as Biggles threw the switch, settling to a steady drone which dropped as he checked each mag - a luxury each man would think on occasionally- then settling back to a steady 1200 revs.

"Back to our natural habitat." Algy grinned, looking at the complex as they taxied out and prepared for takeoff. DVAs done and dusted they shot off, drawing up to full throttle and drifting off the ground. As soon as they were above the vegetation - no great height - Biggles turned back and headed upwards and towards their hotel.

Battered by wind, Algy tested his guns and ammo rounds, checking to double check the standard loading pattern was still standard in an old soviet aircraft, then stuck his hand forwards and waggled it. It produced a signal very like that of an aircraft - 'company' - and Biggles nodded and lowered his nose a little. Height was still his greatest concern for now, as well it should be, and he lowered it only a touch once he'd checked for traffic.

* * *

><p>"Fed?" Ginger inquired civilly, eager to get going again.<p>

"More fed up, old boy. Why we can't ever just go somewhere and find it all turning out to plan..."

"Now you sound like Algy. Let's go down and see what that ship is doing, shall we?"

Bertie sighed but drained his cup and followed, nodding to the concierge as they left.

They were beginning to feel they knew their way along the paths and roads to the dock and took what they thought was the quickest route. By the time they'd got there, loading had started again and they shrugged at each other. "Do you think we'd get in trouble, if we went and helped them? Hurry them along a bit, what?" Bertie mused.

"They'd spot us a mile off. Let's at least go and listen in on the Catalina's radio, in case someone's talking."

Still blessed with a temperate morning, they walked along until they found a rickshaw driver waiting for an early morning lift. He grinned when they said the airport, and they jumped aboard happily.

* * *

><p>Biggles glanced about at the expanse of water and sky. It would be easy to confuse the two, especially coming out of a cloud - though that seemed unlikely in the clear sky - and he again went through the standard sweeping search of a pilot. This plane was a good enough ride - a steady though not fast cruising speed, armed and armoured, in possession of standard instruments which, though he may not admit it to the others, made swapping planes easier. However it did not have goggles or headsets, without which their intercom and visuals were dependant on old fashioned miming. True, he and Algy had been communicating that way since the latter was crazy enough to leave school and turn up in his wing, but it didn't let them hear what else was going on, or communicate with the other traffic.<p>

Algy's hand appeared in his vision, signalling a single following aircraft just visible, and Biggles shifted his gaze to their destination. Once landed, they could switch to the Catalina, head for home and transmit the information before meeting Bertie and Ginger and plotting to disrupt the soviets.

Algy glanced behind them and took up an easy stance, braced to use his guns. He had no idea whether they'd try and shoot down the plane, get the two men in it or try and bring it all down in one piece. Idly, he wondered what the pilot thought of it all. It must be one of the first times they'd had to chase someone off the island who had stolen the same type of plane as they were flying.

He squinted a little harder, making out a matching wing span and climbing attitude. This could get fun. Although Biggles was watching as closely as he ever did, there was trust that Algy had his back, and it was Algy who noted the sweeping rain and ominous CBs building up along his horizon. It would be a close call now which came first, the opponent or the weather.

* * *

><p>"Well, that's made our lives easier," Bertie smiled, as the airport staff - hardly numerate in any case - wandered off for lunch.<p>

"If that CB doesn't ruin our comms," Ginger added, pointing out to the black mass of cloud.

Bertie nodded, then twitched. "I say, did you see that? Looked like bally lightening to me."

Ginger shook his head, but the rumble which was too loud to be anything but thunder put his hopes out. "Well, at least the other two are happy and dry in their island - I don't see von Stalhein getting his two favourite Brits wet and dirty. He's too tidy himself." Ginger assured them.

Bertie nodded, "It'd be well if we followed suit then. The wooden building will be better than the Catalina, and we can get something to occupy ourselves with then. We won't pick them up without proper range, in this muck."

The customs desk was deserted when they walked through and Ginger was glad. He liked their acquaintance but he wasn't in the mood for dissimilating and he wouldn't have told the truth. The two settled down to wait in an obscure corner, half hidden and looking out at the oncoming storm.

* * *

><p>"CBs chasing us." Algy shouted in Biggles' ear, twisting awkwardly. Biggles nodded and glanced behind, increasing his angle of attack slightly. "We'll try and put down somewhere" he yelled, changing heading for a closer island just visible but clearly more likely to be reached than the main airport. He may have got there faster had he put his nose down, but it was a tossup now between beating the weather and being caught in a downdraft. Losing too much height for speed would cover greater distance but also give them a strong chance of being plunged into the sea, still in their seats.<p>

Gently, he nursed the foreign plane still closer, lowering the nose a little, searching for the perfect rate of climb. Algy fired off a short burst and shifted, rocking the fuselage and Biggles understood their opponent was nearer now. It made sense - they hadn't had a large head start and the other pilot had hours in these machines and probably no passenger. Not that he begrudged his - there was no one he'd prefer to have, now.

Algy grunted, absorbing some recoil and again checking his belts of ammunition. All was to his satisfaction, or at least as good as it was likely to get, and he focused briefly on the sky surrounding their chaser. No one else appeared to be following, which made his job easier, though he did wonder about it. Clearly they weren't as important as they'd like to be - or maybe they were underestimated, perhaps von Stalhein's power was waning? He knew the Prussian would never consider a single plane the safest option to chase Biggles in, and he liked to think that he was given some credit, too.

The other plane swam up behind them and just when he thought they were in range, Biggles lowered the nose and they shot away. Clearly peace had yet to dull any senses. For a couple of minutes the two planes edged around each other, the one coming up, Biggles skittering away. He maintained his heading to the island, though, and Algy glanced towards the CB, now several miles closer but slowing, he thought. There was a chattering and he swung the gun around on the firing plane, putting a quick burst through its empennage.

"Von Stalhein's in there, the crafty fox!" he half shouted, eyeing the passenger in the other plane with dislike. A few more passes created nothing other than empennage holes and a dented wing on the Prussian-flown plane. Biggles suddenly switched from defensive to offensive and Algy lined up some raking shots as they ducked underneath.

He felt a shudder pass through the airframe of their own plane and glanced at his pilot, but Biggles was still in control, still fighting, so he continued to fire, hitting near the cockpit.

Suddenly, the temperature dropped, he fired off a burst and von Stalhein reached over to his controls and pulled his plane up again, firing at Algy as he did so. Biggles yawed wide, almost over the island now, and shoved his nose just lower than level flight. The other plane kept on and Algy tried to finish off their pursuer, but whatever he'd shot had clearly not killed him yet, because he came on doggedly. More bursts, and Algy had the grim satisfaction of staying put as Biggles again shied away from attack, then dove for the trees.

The other plane followed them down but their rear guns couldn't be brought to bear and the pilot was clearly not about to start firing. Algy sprayed them with a raking fire and saw the whole plane jolt, before Biggles made a noise between a scream and a croak and he turned to brace for impact.


	6. Coming to Ground

**Chapter ****6 - Coming to ground**

It seemed to happen very fast, and at the same time terribly slowly, that feeling probably triggered by the fact that Algy knew there was absolutely nothing he could do to alter the course of events. The storm had hit and made their plane lurch while it was only a few dozen meters above the ground. As he looked down, Algy saw trees under them passing under them in a blur, fast - way too fast.

Biggles yelled something and nodded to their left, but there was too much noise for Algy to even hear the sound of his voice, let alone understand the words. Biggles steered the plane left and it tilted, too much and too fast, especially in such conditions. Algy opened his mouth to shout a warning, but he did not have time; the left wing of their craft must have caught the top of a tree. He looked at Biggles and saw him remarkably clearly for a second or two, hands on the controls, jaw set, eyes focused. Then he heard the clatter of twisted metal and breaking wood, and felt himself propelled forward by the inertia. Only because he had strapped himself tightly to his seat was he not sent flying - literally - but even so, the shock was serious and even after the small plane had stopped moving, he remained motionless, dazed and confused.

It took him perhaps a minute or two to regain control of his faculties, in the deafening silence that followed. The sound of the storm outside the plane was still there, but slightly muffled and much less intense on the ground than it had been in the air. Algy could see almost nothing but darkness around him and for a second a jolt of terror went through him, along with the fear that he may have gone blind, but soon his eyes began to get used to the darkness and he was able to make out the rest of the cockpit. His first thought then was for Biggles.

«Biggles?» he called tentatively. His voice was croaky and his mouth felt terribly dry.

No answer came, nor did it seem forthcoming. Algy fought back the sick feeling at the pit of his stomach, and he felt carefully for a body nearby. His movements were hindered by his safety harness, but only when he tried to remove it did he realize how badly his hands were shaking. It took several tries to remove the harness, and when Algy tried to stand up his knees barely supported him. It was the aftermath of the shock, he knew, and he was also confident it would pass soon, but he could not afford to wait. Biggles might be dying at this very minute, and the plane could still catch fire, even though it seemed to be raining.

Groping blindly for his friend, Algy was relieved to find him almost immediately, slumped in his seat, unconscious. He would have dearly liked to examine him, but first he needed to drag him outside to safety, not to mention there would be more light. Clumsily, he draped Biggles' left arm around his shoulder, and heaved him upwards on his back, before he pulled the both of them outside. It strained his muscles sorely, but Algy would have preferred to see his arms be torn off than to leave Biggles behind. He hardly even felt the thick raindrops as he lowered his burden to the ground and let himself collapse near him.

It may not have been the first time Algy crashed, nor was it likely to be the last, but it was not something to be taken lightly. A crash always reminded a pilot uncomfortably of his own mortality - and that of his friends.

«Biggles,» Algy called again, softly. «Come on, wake up.» He lightly shook his friend's shoulder, though he hardly even dared to touch him for fear of finding his skin cold and his pulse non-existent.

A slight move under his fingers reassured him that Biggles was, in fact, breathing. The priority was to get him somewhere safe, but he had no idea what direction to take to find shelter. They appeared to be in some sort of clearing, surrounded by trees - some of which had been mauled badly by the crash, but that did not help much. One thing was for certain, they could not stay there; some planes had been known to catch fire hours after they had crashed, and Algy far preferred for them to be a little wet and cold than for them to be roasted.

For the time being he could at least give Biggles a quick examination, make sure it was safe to move him. Although he was no doctor, Algy had learnt more than a few things during the two wars he had fought in, and he knew enough to check for broken bones or signs of internal bleeding. However, for all of Algy's probing, Biggles' worst wound seemed to be the bump on his head - a light concussion perhaps - which meant he might well remain unconscious for minutes, or even hours longer.

His worst fears alleviated, Algy gave himself a moment to think. They needed to move, that was for certain. Since he did not know what direction to take, he might as well let chance decide for him. He would take any direction and see where he got.

He was about to stand up when suddenly he went still, a shiver running down his spine. Through the noise of the rain, he was sure he had heard something - some sort of cracking sound. He was ready to dismiss it, not sure if his senses could be trusted after all he had been through in the past hours, but an ill foreboding in his chest kept him uneasy. He almost felt like there was something, some sort of threat, lingering in the vicinity. Slowly, he turned around - and saw nothing.

«Why don't you come out?» he called, only half-believing something would happen.

For a moment nothing moved, and Algy was ready to turn away, but then he saw something dark under the trees, and finally a human figure came out. A too familiar face sneered down at him.

«And good evening to you, Lacey.»

At first, Algy was too dumbfounded to react at all, or even to feel any fear. He simply shook his head in disbelief. «Don't you _ever_ call it off?» he asked, and found within him some old anger simmering and bubbling up to the surface. «You got what you wanted - we're stranded in a remote enough location and it'll take us long enough to get back someplace civilized - if we actually make it at all. So what now? Have you come to finish us off?»

«Do not indulge in such theatrics, Lacey.» Von Stalhein's voice was cold as ice. «You find yourself in this situation through your own fault only. As for my being here, you are to blame as well.»

Only then did Algy notice that the Prussian was a far cry from his usual smart self, dishevelled, soaked through by the rain, a nasty bruise on his left cheekbone. «You crashed, too,» he realized soberly, and most of his anger left him as he switched to his professional mode. «Which means... you are stranded here with us.»

«It does not make me any happier than you.»

«Some say we get the company we deserve,» Algy observed with a humourless smile.

«That is a very naive vision of the world.» Von Stalhein raised his right hand, showing what he had kept hidden all this time; a gun. German-made, of course. The black barrel of the Lüger stared right at Algy, and made him realize with a sinking feeling that he had no weapons himself. On the other hand, even if von Stalhein made them prisoners, there were not that many places where he could take them, so his advantage was somewhat flimsy.

«So what now?» Algy asked. «Are we going to just stare at each other?»

He followed von Stalhein's gaze as he looked down at Biggles' prone form lying on the grass.

«Is he seriously wounded?» The German's voice was devoid of any emotion.

«I...» Algy hesitated. «I do not think so, but he's certainly not in a shape to do anything at this moment.» Allowing for some doubt while stating the obvious kept him a backdoor open if he needed to lie about Biggles' condition later on.

«Can he be moved?»

«Yes.» Gun or no gun, there was no way Algy would let Biggles be left behind. In any case, it did not seem to be von Stalhein's intention.

«Then you are going to carry him.»

«Where to?»

«You will see in time.»

Algy raised a dubious eyebrow. «Will I? Be serious. I doubt you've been on this island before, and there's no way you can know your way around.» Not that it would make that much of a difference, the sky was already covered in dark clouds, and the rain kept their range of vision to a minimum.

«That is none of your concern, at this moment.» Von Stalhein raised the Lüger threateningly. «Now, let us waste no more time. Night falls early at this latitude.»

Algy hesitated, then decided it was not worth arguing any further - after all, he did not exactly have a better idea himself - and shrugged dismissively. «Fine. Suit yourself. Why don't you give me a hand ?»

He had not really expected von Stalhein to agree, and so he was neither surprised nor disappointed when the German's only answer was an ironic shake of the head. To his credit, he had his hands full - a gun in the right hand, and in the left one a small kit he must have retrieved in his plane.

With some effort, he heaved up Biggles' limp body and battled for a moment to find the least strenuous way to balance his weight on his back and shoulders. Finally, he straightened up as much as he could, and nodded to von Stalhein to indicate that he was ready. Von Stalhein replied with a curt nod, clearly indicating that Algy should go first. And so, they entered the forest.

At first the walk was not too trying. The ground was fairly even, and the undergrowth scarce enough. But soon enough, Algy's muscles began to feel painful and sore, especially in his neck. The ground became steep, and the rain made it slippery. At first, Algy thought that von Stalhein was going randomly, as he himself had planned to, but soon enough it appeared that it was not the case. The German looked carefully around him, and regularly gave stern, brief directions for Algy to go left or right.

Very quickly, each step was a torture, but Algy was less than keen to admit it. Deep down, there was always the fear that von Stalhein would decide that dragging Biggles with them was more trouble than it was worth, and would shoot him. Rationally, Algy knew it was fairly unlikely, but subconscious fears were not very well known for their rationality. So he went on stubbornly, even though he breathed more and more quickly.

«Halt,» von Stalhein ordered unexpectedly.

Algy stopped and looked at him quizzically.

«Put him down.»

There was no question who «him» was.

«Why?» Algy asked.

«It is obvious you cannot go much further,» von Stalhein said, looking vaguely exasperated. «You will rest for ten minutes.»

Algy pursed his lips and nodded curtly, before gently putting Biggles down. Carefully, he felt the bump on his head. It was badly swollen, and Biggles' forehead felt warmer than it should. Algy tried to push back the tight feeling in his chest with the reflexion that it was normal he would be a little feverish after such a shock, but it did not work very well.

He stole a glance at their captor. «How far are we going?» He tried to keep his tone casual.

«As far as need be,» was the rather unhelpful answer.

«Will you at least tell me what you're looking for?»

There was a brief silence, and for a moment Algy thought von Stalhein was not going to answer, but he did eventually. «We need shelter for the night.»

«Yes, and we don't seem any closer to finding one.»

«That is my concern, as I have said before.»

«You are very open to discussion,» Algy said resentfully.

«I have the gun,» von Stalhein pointed out, and it was difficult to deny the accuracy of that statement. «Your ten minutes are up. Let us go.»

«I don't suppose you'd consider giving me a hand?»

«So that you may try and overpower me? I don't think so, Lacey.»

«Oh, well.» Algy shrugged, more light-heartedly than he really felt. «Worth a shot.»

The rest had given him some strength back, but the relief did not last much. By then, they had crossed a small stream and left the forest to find themselves on the slope of a mountain. Of course, the island must have a volcanic origin, and they had been climbing all this time. Algy began to understand von Stalhein's plan better; he wanted to get a good sight on the island, and he probably thought they had more chances to find shelter there. Perhaps they could find a crack in the rock, or even a cave.

Now that Algy had an idea of what they were doing, he understood why von Stalhein was looking so carefully at the slope and at their surroundings, and he began looking too. Twice, he noticed openings in the rock that look promising, but proved to be much too small in the end.

The third time it happened, Algy stopped. «Maybe we should stop here,» he suggested. «A little shelter is better than no shelter at all, and it's getting dark.» Darker than it already was, at least, not to mention exhaustion was taking its toll on him, and he knew he could not carry Biggles around like that for much longer. Von Stalhein himself looked fairly tired as well, though his stance betrayed little of it.

«We will go a little farther,» the German stated. «We can come back if we find nothing better in the meantime,» he added, less harshly than Algy had come to expect.

So they went on a little longer. Algy was just about to sit down and refuse to go any further when, at long last, they found something suitable; a cave, deep and wide enough for all three of them to stay, and comfortably so. It was not exactly dry, but always better than the pouring rain outside. For a moment it had been reduced to a drizzle, but now it was back full force. Without waiting for von Stalhein's command, Algy dragged himself inside and put Biggles down as gently as his cramped muscles would allow, before sitting down as well, light-headed and aching.

Von Stalhein entered behind them and looked down at them for a moment. Algy did not need to be a psychic to guess what he was thinking about pathetic British airmen, but at this point he could not bring himself to care. Now that they had found shelter, his priority was to get Biggles to wake up; this continued unconsciousness worried him and made him wonder if perhaps the wound was worse than he had assumed. He had no medicine with him, not even water, but he rubbed Biggles' hands and chest with the hope it would help the blood circulate and warm him up. When Biggles showed no signs of waking, he slapped him gently.

«Biggles... come on, Biggles...»

Von Stalhein watched, clearly unimpressed but making no effort to either stop or help him. Algy was nothing if not stubborn so he kept at it and after a long while, it gave some results. Biggles' eyelids flickered, and his colourless lips moved as he let out a slight groan.

Relief flooded though Algy's body and he resumed his ministrations with more energy. Biggles tried to speak again, but only managed to mumble a few meaningless syllables. His eyes blinked open but they were glazed and looked through Algy without noticing him. It took perhaps ten to fifteen minutes before Biggles seemed to be actually conscious and aware.

«...drink...»

Algy let out a breath that he had not noticed he was holding, and looked up at von Stalhein.

«He's getting better, but he's going to need medical attention.»

Von Stalhein returned his look, expressionless. «That does seem likely.»

«I don't suppose you're carrying any supplies with you.»

«Nothing but what I could carry easily.»

Von Stalhein had never been the type to be very forthcoming with information, but Algy found it particularly irritating at this moment. «So you don't have any medical supplies?» he clarified.

«No. It seems Bigglesworth will have to rely on his own strength to survive.»

«At least let me go and get him some water!» Algy pleaded, anger lacing his voice beneath very genuine distress.

But von Stalhein's mouth had set into a tight line, and when he wanted to the damn German could be twice as stubborn as a mule. «No,» he said. «I don't trust you out of my sight.»

«All right, then you go!» Algy was willing to make any kind of compromise if it could help Biggles.

«And leave you two plotting your escape? I think not, Lacey.»

At that point, the very subject of their little disagreement spoke up, weakly. «Will you two stop arguing like an old married couple? You're making my head hurt.»

Algy looked down at his friend in worry, then up at von Stalhein. Was that a flicker of concern he could see on his face? No, surely not. But before either of them could react, Biggles spoke again.

«Look here, von Stalhein, I'm sure Algy would be willing to give you his word he's not going to do anything but get some water.»

Algy pursed his lips; that was all he could do not to make a face, for he did have a few other things in mind besides looking for some water. Escaping old Erich's watchful eye was not an opportunity that would present itself very often, most likely.

That thought must have crossed von Stalhein's mind as well, as he looked most doubtful. But Algy could see a hopeless situation when he was in it.

«Right, you have my word,» he promised, unhappily.

Von Stalhein hesitated for a moment, looked again at Biggles, and eventually nodded reluctantly. «Very well, but do not try my patience." He handed Algy an empty canteen, which he must have scavenged from his airplane after the crash. It had obviously been originally used to hold some spirits - vodka, from the smell - but now it was empty, sadly enough. Only the strong smell lingered. "Remember that Bigglesworth's life is in my hands.»

«I'm not likely to forget that, don't you worry,» said Algy quietly, and he went out before the German could change his mind.

Algy had spoken truly when he reminded von Stahlein he was unlikely to forget - years of travelling together had forged a bond between the two British airmen which went deeper than simple friendship. It was the bond born out of war and forged as strong as the toughest steel, yes, but it was also a bond between relations, between friends, between two men who found themselves the only way out of life-or-death situations.

Though he was showing a brave face, Algy was worried for Biggles and he had no wish to put him in any more danger, so he set about his task with all haste.

It was cold outside, bitterly so, and a swirling wind made travel uncomfortable, but he knew the rough direction of a stream they had crossed earlier and headed there with no further delay. The ice-cold water rushed down the slope, clear as crystal, and droplets splashed on Algy's hands as he filled the canteen. Cupping his hands, he drank some of it, then some more, suddenly realizing how thirsty he was.

Head bent, he found his way back into the warmer cave, stripping off his jacket and passing the canteen, reluctantly, to von Stahlein as he did so. In his absence, the German had somehow managed to build a fire, meagre though it was with green and not very dry wood. It was a source of heat, but also of an acrid smoke that burnt Algy's nostrils and lungs.

«Don't waste any of it,» he cautioned, with a nod at Biggles' resting form.

The German's scornful glare made it clear what he thought of Algy's advice, but he did not condescend to answer, instead drank a mouthful or two himself. Then he wet the end of a rag and pressed it onto Biggles' mouth, more gently than Algy expected, encouraging him to wake again.

Biggles stirred slightly and turned his head away, weakly, but von Stalhein did not relent. When Biggles opened his eyes, however, they were bright and feverish, and unfocused, as well as a little red. At that point, Algy may have tried some stunt, such as knocking the German senseless, but there was no telling whether he would manage to overpower him, even with surprise on his side; and quite honestly, he was too concerned over Biggles' state of health to have much of anything else on his mind.

Instead, he knelt beside von Stalhein and supported Biggles' head so he could have a drink without choking. His friend did not protest, which Algy found somewhat worrisome although it did make things simpler for him, and drank greedily when presented with the bottle. However, von Stalhein put the bottle away after only a few gulps, ignoring Biggles' faint groan of protest.

«What do you think you're doing?» Algy protested, quietly but scathingly.

Von Stalhein looked at him emotionlessly. «Too much water on an empty stomach might make him ill, which is not recommendable in the best of cases. Better to give him a little every now and then.»

Grudgingly, Algy had to admit the validity of the remark. The fact that he did not care much for von Stalhein's company, even on the best of days, did not make that any easier. He wondered how Biggles could tolerate the man's company - let alone _like_ him, perish the thought. As far as he was concerned, he found the dour German as good a friend as a venomous snake, and that was being rather nasty on the poor snake.

With a minute sigh, Algy looked outside the cave, and he grimaced. The rain, which had been trying to settle in all day, had finally broken out in earnest, and it was pouring cats and dogs. Seeing that, he was rather happy that he had gone to the stream earlier, or he would have been drenched to the skin by now, and it was not the meagre fire they had built that could have warmed him up. Speaking of which... Algy realized with a sinking feeling that the fire was now nearly extinct, and they would need more wood. And where they would find dry wood in the middle of what promised to be a memorable storm, was another matter.

He shifted his position and, looking at von Stalhein, noticed that he had a hand laying casually on his gun, which although it was not directly pointing at him was not aimed far off either.

«Oh, for crying out loud!» Algy snapped. «What do you think I'm going to do, at night, with a storm brewing up and an injured man to care for?»

Von Stalhein's cold blue eyes studied him carefully. «I do not know, Lacey, and I do not care to find out. I have found that whenever Bigglesworth is involved, it pays to be cautious.»

Algy muttered under his breath. If von Stalhein had cared to listen, he might have heard something that sounded suspiciously like «_stiff old bastard_».

Glumly, Algy stared further into the gathering gloom before he stretched, purposely ignoring the gun, and settled down at Biggles' side, one hand resting lightly on his friend's arm. «We're almost out of wood.» he pointed out, voice conversationally light.

Von Stahlein looked at their meagre fire and nodded. «We are. Unless you want to go out hunting in the rain, however, we won't be getting any more.»

Algy stroked Biggles' wrist meditatively, reassuring himself they were both still alive. «I'm hardly likely to rush out into that - you're wearing the best clothes, you hop out for a look around.»

Von Stahlein eyed him coldly. «Leaving you two alone - face it, Lacey, you are the only one of the three of us who can move in and out of this cave.»

Algy kept a wary eye on the gun, eyeing the steady downpour with a grim expression. «I know there's plenty of wood lying about, von Stahlein, but I'll still be soaked when I get back. I'm not going to leave you in charge of two sick british airmen.»

Von Stahlein blinked. «But you'll leave yourself in charge of a German and a Briton, both sick? That's very kind of you.»

Algy sighed. «As I said, you have the warmest clothes. They won't fit me, I'm too tall, and Biggles isn't going anywhere. Leave most of them here, duck out, then come back in and pop them on instead. You can take the gun with you, if you think you'll need it.»

As he was talking, Algy had let go of Biggles wrist, sliding round to his head and pulling the water with him. Crossing his legs with slight difficulty he gently lifted Biggles' head and pulled it up against his chest, resting him there. The bandage was dry and clean, for which he was thankful, and he set about trying to coax Biggles to have some more water.

«I won't move from here,» he added pointedly to the German who was watching them with a strange expression on his face. «You have my word.»

Von Stalhein pursed his lips, clearly hesitating. Not that Algy could really blame him; they had beaten him too often in the past for him to take any chance. But he felt that the German could be convinced, was only a few inches from agreeing to go, and he prodded a bit further.

«Look, if you don't go the fire will go out and there will be three sick men instead of two. Just go - I gave you my word.»

For a moment, Algy thought von Stalhein was going to refuse, but after a last reticent frown the German gave a curt nod and stood up.

«Very well. I shall hold you to your word.»

He shrugged off his greatcoat, then unbuttoned his jacket and folded it meticulously. Algy could not help rolling his eyes in front of that display of German punctiliousness, but he was too happy with the man's compliance to make any comment. He focused instead on Biggles' face, and frowned when he saw him shuddering. It was probably due to the fever, although it had been getting colder now that the sun had set. The cave, as most caves are, was also damp, more so because of the rain.

A shadow fell on him and Algy raised his head, startled, to see von Stalhein draping his greatcoat over Biggles' limp body. Now wearing only his boots, trousers and undershirt, his gun in its oiled leather sheath, the German was ready to go out. He gave Algy a nasty scowl that clearly meant, _don't you dare say a word_. Dumbfounded somewhat, the British airman watched von Stalhein stride out of the cave and disappear in the pouring rain.

«Well, well,» he mused out loud. «Looks like friend Erich is growing soft.» Not that he was going to complain about it.

He looked down again at Biggles. There was not much he could do at this point. He had given his word that he would not move. Besides, as loathe as he was to admit it, he suspected the three of them would all need each other before this whole adventure was over. They were stuck here, and stuck good, until someone else showed up. The whole question was who was going to show up first.

His back began to ache, but he dared not move since, at last, Biggles was resting more quietly and seemed to have fallen asleep. He was stuck in this position for the time being, and looked glumly at the glowing embers of the now dying fire. Ginger and Bertie were going to be worried sick about them - not that he could do anything about it.


	7. Lines of Tension

**A/N**** : Hadn't planned on releasing this chapter so soon, but since an anonymous reviewer asked so nicely for it, here it comes. The rest will follow ASAP, though there may be some delay as I'll be pretty busy in the next two weeks.  
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**Also, I find this chapter to be a little awkward, but that is pretty much impossible to fix - not without rewriting the whole chapter. That is due to the fact that when we wrote this, we did not have a clear idea where we were taking the story - basically, we were making it up as we went, so there are some openings that don't really lead anywhere and some scenes that come out of the blue. That flaw is much less apparent in the rest of the story. Hope you like it anyway.  
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**Chapter 7**** - Lines of tension**

The grumble of Algy's stomach reminded him forcefully that he had not eaten since they left the Vanuatu - curse von Stalhein for not feeding his prisoners. Naturally, he could not have anticipated everything that had happened, and so he had not packed any picnic. Well, that was the last time he was caught unaware, he thought bitterly. He would not ever, _ever_ again get on a plane without a substantial survival kit.

Von Stalhein's return distracted him from his unhappy musings, and he had the relative pleasure of seeing at least one person more miserable than he was. A bundle of firewood tucked under an arm, soaked to the skin, the German was a far cry from his usual smart self. His dark hair clung to his forehead, his clothes stuck to his skin, and his boots made a rather squishy sound when he walked past Algy. For the first time, Algy wondered what had become of the amber cigarette holder. Lost during the crash, maybe.

He dropped his stack of branches near the fire so it was given a chance to dry up somewhat and knelt beside it, shivering.

«It did not take you long,» Algy remarked.

«Long enough to get wet,» the German said dryly. The answer lost a lot of its venom, however, when coming from someone as pitiful-looking as he did at this point.

«You should...» began Algy, but already von Stalhein was putting on his jacket, and then began to add wood to the fire, careful not to stifle it so the combustible could dry completely. It created some more smoke, but not too much, and since the fire was sheltered from the wind it did not get in Algy's face.

«We are likely to be stuck here for a while yet,» von Stalhein observed quietly as he kindled the fire.

«I suppose,» Algy said. «Unless you had time to tell your friends where you are.»

«They will be looking for me, either way", von Stalhein remarked, though not as smugly as he might have. Odd - he was the kind to brag when he held a winning hand. Unless their current predicament made him measure his words more carefully.

Algy's stomach rumbled once again. «I don't suppose you have any food, do you?»

The German grabbed the small kit he had retrieved from the wreck before they got to the cave and rummaged inside it, before retrieving a small red object. He threw it to Algy, who caught it deftly; it was a chocolate bar. Not exactly a nutritional dinner, but it was better than nothing. Algy tore the wrapping and broke a bit of it, then tried to coax Biggles into eating it. Making a sick, barely-conscious man eat was not as easy as it might seem.

«It's all we have to eat, then?» The implication was clear in von Stahlein's tone - it was German food, and precious little enough of it. Algy carefully broke off the last third of the bar and passed it back, along with the wrapper.

«May as well make use of all of it - you never know what we might need it for.» Von Stalhein did not look convinced, and slightly amused, but did not bother to comment.

Algy set the remainder of his own chocolate next to him, uncaring about the cleanliness of the floor, and turned back to Biggles, pulling him flush against his chest and wrapping thin arms around thin ribs.

«Come on, Biggles. Pop some of this in your mouth, alright?» His tone was soft and coaxing, though a little rusty sounding - the last time he had employed it had been convincing Ginger he could walk on a sprained ankle, just another few hundred yards. That had ended well, too, and he took it as a sign.

Von Stahlein was looking at him with a strange expression in his eyes, huddled in his greatcoat near the fire. «It will take a long time to feed him all of that,» he commented, «if he will not open his mouth for you.» Stiffly the German stood, shuffling over to the two shivering airmen, sank down near them. «It is something the soldiers do, when they are in...bad conditions.» Von Stahlein gently took his gun out and lay it down a few feet away, then knelt next to Algy, at Biggles' head.

«Pass me a piece of chocolate, please.» Algy hesitated, but decided that one square could not go amiss, would not give him much more strength. Slowly he broke off one of his own squares and passed it over. «What are you going to do?»

The way von Stahlein's eyes flashed left Algy in a state of mild alarm. «I'm going to kiss your precious Bigglesworth,» he stated, as calmly as if this was an everyday occurance.

Algy opened his mouth, but the words died on his lips and he was left staring dumbly at the German. Then he realized just how silly he must look, and he snapped his mouth shut. Speechlessness led the way to complete and utter astonishment when he saw von Stalhein getting ready to do just what he had said.

_Don't be silly_, he scolded himself, still somewhat dazed._ He's von Stalhein, he _always_ carries out his threats._

Trying to shake off the surrealism of the whole scene, Algy held up his arm to stop von Stalhein as he was bending over Biggles' prone body.

«Wait.»

The other man looked up, annoyance clearly etched on his features. «You may believe it or not, but I do not enjoy this... situation... any more than you do, and I'll be quite happy to get it over with. So, if you don't mind...»

«No,» Algy insisted. «I'll do it.» He felt himself flush ever so slightly, and hoped the darkness of the cave would conceal it well enough. It was an awkward moment; the only thing that consoled him even a little was that von Stalhein could not breath a word of the whole affair to anyone; it would be too embarrassing to him.

«Fine,» von Stalhein said, scowling, and he gave Algy the square of chocolate back.

They switched places - Algy was not without noticing that the gun somehow found its way back to its holster - and he set about feeding Biggles like a bird would its fledglings. It was much easier that way, however reluctantly Algy had to admit it. Once the whole bar was finished, he straightened himself and gently eased Biggles' head back on the ground. Probably due to his ravenous hunger, that chocolate was probably the best he had ever tasted (not that he would say that out loud, of course, or von Stalhein would say something smug about the superiority of German food).

As it was, when Algy glanced up at the German, who had huddled back near the fire in the meantime, he was a little irked to see a thin, mocking smile on his face as he watched the two British airmen.

«See something you like?» he snapped, before realizing what he had just said and flushing scarlet. No way the surrounding darkness hid it, this time; he could have lit up a whole room, if he looked as bright as he felt. That had come out just wrong.

Von Stalhein's smile thinned further, and he looked genuinely amused this time. «Don't flatter yourself, Lacey,» he purred.

Algy looked away. He really would have to watch his mouth; that last remark had sounded like something Bertie might have said. «We are going to be stuck here for a while,» he stated, eager to steer the focus of the conversation elsewhere.

«I should think that was obvious.»

«What I mean is that there is the question of supplies to consider,» Algy clarified. «Food, water, firewood.»

Von Stalhein glanced outside. «As far as water is concerned, it does not seem to be too scarce at the moment.»

And indeed, the downpour outside was beginning to take biblical proportions. In fact, a huge puddle of water had been growing bigger at the entrance of the cave, and Algy hoped it would not keep growing. Being drenched in water was the very last thing Biggles, any of them for that matter, needed.

«We should set some sort of container, outside,» Algy suggested. «That way we won't have to get out again if we run out of drinking water.»

«We should,» von Stalhein agreed. «But I do not see anything that would qualify in our direct vicinity.»

Algy frowned, but it was true indeed. He could not spot anything that could contain more than a few gulps of water, and that would not do them much good.

«The only thing we can do is wait,» added von Stalhein. «At least until tomorrow, and hope the weather gets better by then.»

Algy could but agree, for he feared if it didn't stop raining, if he couldn't with some legitimacy get some space between the three of them, there might be some flare-up of tensions which would do nothing to help them. He didn't trust von Stahlein, not at all, but it seemed, if his earlier comment was anything to go by, that perhaps he couldn't trust himself, either. Where had that come from, and why had it left his mouth?

Dully, he realised he was in danger of drifting off, and sat up more firmly, peering through the dimness to see if his companion was in danger of doing the same thing. He couldn't leave the German the only man awake in their little cave, although judging by his shifting Biggles wasn't fully asleep or comfortable. No such luck- the German was sitting looking as though he was ready for the slightest action.

* * *

><p>Biggles had been dimly aware that something would happen to him - he was unwell, not deaf - but the feel of chilly, chapped lips on his, warm chocolate spreading through his mouth, was certainly unexpected. Now, uneasy and feeling far less feverish, he tried to take stock of his surroundings. He remembered much of what had happened - von Stahlein and they blundering into each other, being marched, defenceless, into a holding area and himself being injured - but the past few hours were mainly a blur of sleep and movement. There was warmth at his back and a fire nearby, he could tell that much and it comforted him as fire has done man for centuries. Tentatively he licked his lips, still tasting the remains of the chocolate, wishing there was more.<p>

A shadowing figure huddled near the fire, eyes almost shut although the set of his shoulders and his audible breaths didn't suggest sleep.

Biggles was thirsty and the drumming of water he could hear didn't help the matter at all. It was a few minutes more before he equated the noise with the water he was looking for, confused as he was, but when he did, when he had spied the puddle, he determined to reach it.

Slowly moving his hands down he placed them not on the floor, as expected, but on two chilly but certainly alive legs. They wriggled a bit, found themselves trapped and two hands covered his.

«What can I do for you, Biggles?» The voice sounded disused, a quiet whisper against his neck, and he half turned to answer it.

Everything was a little blurry around him, but the voice sounded familiar. He might have recognized it at once, if the other man had not spoken so softly, and if he had not been so confused. It was frustrating; thoughts and feelings whirled through his head, but he seemed to be unable to catch one and to hang onto it. His focus escaped him, and only one consideration remained steady in his mind; his need for water.

«...water,» he said. The sound of his own voice, croaky and weak, startled him. He licked his chafed lips with his tongue. The mere thought of cool water pouring down his throat was turning to an obsession.

«Where is the water, von Stalhein?» the voice said again. Algy... it was Algy's voice.

Biggles furrowed his brow a little while he tried to remember what had happened, to gather his thoughts as well as he could. They had been together in some sort of cave, and then... then what? He must have fallen asleep.

«Here,» another voice said - von Stalhein's - and a moment later, finally, Biggles felt the neck of a canteen against his lips.

He drank greedily, only thereafter realizing that they might not have much water left and he was drinking it all. He looked up at Algy a little guiltily.

«Come on,» Algy coaxed him, «a little more. You're dehydrated. There's as much water as you need.»

Biggles was not sure he believed him completely, but he was too tired to argue, and too thirsty to refuse when the bottleneck was pushed against his mouth once more.

* * *

><p>Algy was rather satisfied when finally Biggles was finished drinking and closed his eyes again, though he probably was not asleep yet. He had managed to make him drink half the contents of the canteen. That meant they only had a half left of what he had brought back, but that was of no consequence; the stream was not all that far, and if he or von Stalhein had to go again before it had stopped raining... well, it would be unpleasant but nothing more, and they could take it. He sneaked a glance towards the German, still half-expecting a rebuke about the water, but von Stalhein was not even looking at him, he was staring at the fire, apparently deep in thought.<p>

Algy sat back after he had topped up the canteen and put it away, and watched outside. The rain showed no sign of lessening, though the rumbles of thunder were now few and far between. The smell of wet vegetation came up to his nostrils, and he could not help but find it pleasant; he spent too much time perhaps near airfields, where the only smell you could expect was that of oil, fuel and burnt rubber.

He fidgeted a little. Inaction was not his thing, and boredom was threatening. He had no book to keep his attention, and exhaustion made his eyelids droop. Perhaps he ought to sleep - staying up would not really help anyone - but he was reluctant still to let his guard down in the presence of an enemy. He snuck another look at von Stalhein, and consoled himself with the thought that the situation was even worse for him. If Algy fell asleep, nothing much would happen; but if von Stalhein slept, they would take his gun and he would lose the small advantage he had over the two British. Time played in Algy's favour; the more time passed, the more von Stalhein would be tired, and the more Biggles' condition would improve (hopefully). Yes, he thought, von Stalhein ought to be getting quite desperate within the next two days.

* * *

><p>Unbeknownst to the British pilot, von Stalhein's thoughts had followed more or less the same line as his. His enemies were two, and he was alone. Yes, Bigglesworth was out of action - for now - but soon enough he would be recovered. Von Stalhein almost wished his old nemesis had died, for he would not then be confronted to this unpleasant situation. The wisest thing to do, he knew, would be to kill the two British airmen while he still had the upper hand. He had shot people in cold blood before - but not like this. He had no qualms whatsoever when his enemies deserved to die, or when his life was at stake, or when loyalty for his country or employers commanded him to kill, but he could not execute defenceless prisoners - not without a proper court martial, at the very least. Not while he had other options.<p>

A thin, humourless smile twisted von Stalhein's lips, as he inwardly cursed his own principles. It was a pity he had such a good memory. He could remember effortlessly a number of times when Bigglesworth could have killed him and had not, could have sent him to jail and had let him go. As much as he might hate it, he owed the man. And as loath as he was to admit it, he did not want Bigglesworth's death. So, he was in a quandary. He could not kill them, and if he did not they would most likely overpower him as soon as he succumbed to exhaustion.

All he could really do was wish for his friends to show up sooner rather than later. At least, the documents were safely hidden. Neither Bigglesworth nor Lacey had thought so far to enquire about them, and if they did von Stalhein did not intend to humour them. But they would not know to ask, they had no reason to suspect that he was in possession of the blueprints. He would not, if he had not been getting ready to fly them back home (or what passed as such) at the time of the badly-scheduled escape of the two prisoners. He would not have been half as chagrined by it if they had chosen to get away only a half-hour later, when he was no longer on the island, and therefore no longer responsible for them. And to think he had gone to such lengths to ensure they would not be summarily executed in his absence… had he known, he would not have bothered.

He looked away from the fire and at Lacey, then at Bigglesworth. The latter had his eyes closed, but von Stalhein was certain he was not asleep.

* * *

><p>It was so much easier to keep his eyes closed, rather than look into the fire, but he was far from sleep. He'd been asleep for hours, by the looks of things, and he wanted to be clear- headed now. It was cold in the cave, his legs were chilly, but his back, pressed against Algy, was warm and he reached out to cling to Algy's left arm, wrapping it round himself like a tattered blanket.<p>

«I know there's not much to do...» he tried weakly, directing his voice towards von Stalhein, «but staring at me is rather unnerving.»

The German gave a start, then muttered something coarse in German which had Algy raising his eyebrows.

«That was uncalled for,» he commented lightly, «especially given your situation.»

He tried to stretch his legs sitting down but merely resulted in stabbing pins and needles travelling further up his leg. Maybe their enemy had a better idea, sitting as he was, but Algy was unsure how much use Biggles and he would be to each other, sitting separately.

The hiss brought to his lips had Biggles tightening his hand around Algy's wrist, as he tilted his head up, unwilling to raise his voice above a whisper as he spoke to Algy alone.

A brief altercation followed which ended with both men shifting, Biggles to take his own weight briefly, remaining sitting upright, as Algy levered himself vertical, bending to lower Biggles down onto the ground, as if going to sleep.

«I've got pins and needles,» he assured von Stalhein, standing bent over and beating at his legs with his fingers, stamping from foot to foot. «I assure you it's most unpleasant.»

The German merely shrugged and peered at the canteen, taking a swig from it and replacing the top carefully. Suddenly his whole attitude changed, as did that of the other two men, tilting their heads to listen above the sound of the rain and wind, straining for a repeat pass of the engines they heard.

Algy worked his legs more strenuously, clearly determined not to be found wanting whatever the outcome, as they waited for the second pass which would be closer, no matter who it was, letting the British know who was arriving first.

The plane came around and Biggles and Algy glanced at each other. Unless a man had spent as much time around planes, in all conditions, they wouldn't have picked up which engines those were buzzing over head, and Algy banked on that as he sauntered a few paces closer to the German, watching the hand free itself, flex, and hover nearer the gun.

«How about we save you a lot of trouble and you tell us about the real reason you're down here?» he suggested.

As he spoke, Algy carefully watched von Stalhein's reaction to his words, determined to make the most of the situation. The German's eyes narrowed somewhat, but Algy thought he saw a flicker of anxiety in the cold blue eyes. He could not be certain; almost immediately, his expression became again as closed as that of an oyster.

«What makes you think there should be a reason in particular for my presence here?» von Stalhein asked carefully.

Algy let out an incredulous laugh. «Oh, come on, don't insult my intelligence. Are you trying to tell me you're here as a - a tourist? Maybe your friends back on the atoll were setting up some kind of luxury hotel away from civilization, right ?»

Indeed, neither the atoll where they had been held prisoners, nor that nasty island where they were now stranded had nothing to make it appear like a likely vacation stay. Without even mentioning its abominable weather, the lack of stores, the scarce vegetation, and... would there be wild animals on that rock? Algy shivered slightly at the thought, his lively imagination already populating the island with wolves, bears and other such predators before his reason came to the front and reminded him it was quite unlikely.

Von Stalhein had been silent for so long that Algy thought he was not going to answer, but he did. «I am working as a consultant.»

Algy laughed again, more softly this time, partly to hide his disappointment. «Yes, of course. Silly me, to imagine that you were engaged in some sort of spying activity or the other.»

The noise of the engines had faded away already, and Algy saw von Stalhein relax a little, though he remained vigilant. It was surprising enough that someone had been flying in this weather - most likely, the pilot had been surprised by the storm and had been trying to rally his airfield as quickly as possible. Probably a French, and definitely not a British machine.

At this moment, Algy noticed something moving in the shadows, not far from von Stalhein. His heart began to beat faster as he tried to squint without being too obvious about it.

«It is your problem, you Englishmen, that you often jump to conclusions,» von Stalhein observed softly, and it took Algy a second to understand it was a response to his last comment.

_And your problem_, he thought,_ is that you talk too much. Always have to gloat, eh?_

A gust of wind entered the cave, fanning the fire, and thanks to the more intense light Algy could make out the shape of a snake. Probably lured by the heat of the fire, it had slithered inside the cave unnoticed, and near von Stalhein who was closest to the entrance.

«I think you should go back with Bigglesworth, now,» von Stalhein said softly. His tone was not threatening, but his cold eyes were expressive enough.

Algy spared a quick glance at Biggles, and realized at once that he too had seen the snake. He had to take advantage of the situation, now, while he was close enough to von Stalhein to act quickly. Having no time to devise a better plan, he aimed for a simple straightforwardness that usually served him well.

«There's a snake,» he said, and pointed at the reptile.

There was a slight hesitation while von Stalhein considered whether it was a bluff or not; then he darted a look to his right. Algy had to give him credit for the swiftness of his reaction; in the space of a second he became aware of the threat, aimed, and fired. Algy did not wait to see whether he had hit the snake or not; already he had leapt on him, making the German fall under his weight and doing his best to grab at the gun. He felt the cold steel under his fingers, but at the same time was viciously hit by a knee in the stomach.

That was not enough to deter him however, and he closed his fingers around von Stalhein's hand, crushing it on the rocky floor to make him let go of the lüger. He heard the German let out a groan of pain when his elbow dug into the other man's ribs. He thought he heard something crack under his weight, but could not be certain as at that same time von Stalhein's fist hit him in the jaw. Red spots danced in front of his eyes and, as he shook his head to regain his focus, von Stalhein managed to push him back.

Understanding that the occasion was lost, Algy made no further attempt and simply sat back, gasping for his breath. The fight had not been long, but quite intense, and his jaw was numb - not to mention the searing pain in his stomach. He was only slightly comforted by von Stalhein's bloodied knuckles and obviously painful ribs.

«Move back,» the German ordered, he too out of breath.

Algy obeyed disconsolately, and returned to his place near Biggles. He was chagrined to see him livid and drawn. Obviously, Biggles had tried to stand up to help him, and had not been strong enough to manage it. Algy hoped he did not blame himself for the failure of the attempt. If anyone was to blame, it was him, Algy.

«I would advise you against trying that again,» von Stalhein said, his voice hard as steel. «Next time, I may not aim at the snake.» He sat back carefully, his gun ostentatiously pointed at the two of them.

Ironically, the snake that had started all this had now disappeared, probably in search of more civilized company. Discouraged, Algy stared outside. It was still raining, though less intensely than before. A glance at his watch informed him that it was half past three in the morning, and he was beginning to feel tired. Well, scratch that; he was positively exhausted. He glanced at Biggles and wondered if he was well enough that he could stand watch and keep an eye on that blasted German while he had a catnap.

The look in his cousin's eyes cut Biggles more than his own frailty had done moments before. He was clearly exhausted, frustrated that they were both far from peak position and covered by a German gun. Not to mention the plane flying around clearly not being one of theirs. Biggles tried a small smile, hoping to convey what he wasn't sure was true- their own men might come over sooner than the local would be back, landed and here trying to find out what had happened.

Algy remained standing for a little longer, shifted more easily from foot to foot, now, indicating with his smooth movements the pins and needles were almost banished. Not a surprise given the pick up in heart rate not so long ago, of course.

«You wouldn't shoot to kill, though,» Algy returned levelly, eyeing the gun with small contempt. «You don't want to lose two prisoners. Shoot me and you'll end up having two sick British officers on your hands, one of whom was clearly wounded through your own actions, which have no ratification in any court of law. You would instead be sent out to pasture. Shoot Biggles you will not. Not while he's this sick.» His usual expression of mild surprise and interest was replaced with a knowing set of eyes and an almost leering mouth.

A violent but controlled anger shone in von Stalhein's eyes. "Your notions of law and justice are decidedly western. I may not be bound by them."

"If not by law, then by honour - or whatever notions of it you have", returned Algy coldly.

He glanced at the now lower gun, taking in with no small amount of pride the effect his words - clearly the truth - had on their companion, and added, possibly throwing caution to the winds, «So you may as well put it away now.»

Clearly taking his order - for such it was - as obeyed, Algy turned on his heel to shake out his arms, survey Biggles, sitting on the cold cave floor, looking only marginally better than before, before squatting down next to his head and asking quietly, «How goes it, old chap?»

* * *

><p>That dratted Lacey had a damned point, von Stalhein fumed to himself, as he carefully replaced the almost-empty Lüger and glanced around to double check the lack of snake. Another log on the fire would add to their meagre supply of light and heat and perhaps keep him awake. Just as well Lacey didn't have the same training as himself, for surely that was all that let him win against an equally tired man.<p>

And now Lacey was crouched over that noble pilot, muttering to him and trying to be of some help. He feared there was little that could be done, especially by one so buffoonish. Lacey was well and good as a wingman, but he should never have been made a second in command. Really, the Vaterland had done a much better job than merry Britain.

Mouth set in a mutinous line, von Stalhein wished he knew who it was that had been flying over. There was no outward sign of their presence but for the crashsite, he knew, but if it was his transport then that could soon be changed. Unless it was the English and Lacey had thought ahead and placed something nearby, when he went out so long ago, allowing them to know who was in the cave?

The best lies were the ones closest to the truth, of course, but this one he might just get away with. So long as he was truthful in other things, they would soon get into the habit of trusting him. And in such trust, they would follow him, of that he was sure. After all, he had to convince only one man, and the other would come as a matter of course.

He'd always liked people smaller than himself, rarely got the chance to attend to sick men.

Stiffly, von Stalhein stood and limped over the few yards to the crouching Lacey, the sagging Bigglesworth. «You are running a temperature.» he stated softly, «I think young Lacey has learnt his lesson now.» His voice slid dangerously around them as he glanced down at Algy, who nodded meekly.

«It would do me no good to have you more sick through my own negligence, he was right,» he added, to take away the sting. Didn't need resentment festering, did he now?

Bigglesworth was clearly suspicious, as he would be, given their background. But he was a gentleman through and through, muddy rags notwithstanding. «What were you suggesting?» He inquired, equally calmly.

Von Stalhein shrugged, «I though perhaps being closer to the fire would be better for you, Bigglesworth. Not close enough to do any damage.» he added. He might have also made a complaint about the smallness of their blaze but didn't.

One of those struggles which frequents such decisions was made, further health and comfort winning out, and Biggles accepting von Stalhein's hands up, staggering closer. Algy hastened to follow but stood where he was told to with a strict eye fixed on him by von Stalhein.

«It's alright.» Algy grunted stoically, in response to Biggles' concerned look, «we'd do the same. Anyway,» his voice became slightly hysterical, «It's a non-linear relationship, distance and heat. So, close the distance by two, increase the heat by four. It's much warmer over here, you know.»

Algy determinedly didn't think about how little heat there'd been to start with. Even putting it up by four didn't make it much warmer. But Biggles was being better looked after over there, clearly.

Von Stalhein lowered Bigglesworth to the driest spot of stone, then looked at him compassionately as he set himself down and prepared to wait some more. There was not much of anything else to do.

«You still seem somewhat chilled,» he admonished, half an hour later.

Biggles opened one eye. Of course he was cold, he wanted to grumble. He realised, then, how unwell he was. Such petulance hadn't crossed his lips in many decades. Perhaps not since his mother died.

«Let's see what more we can do about that.»

Algy broke in, «He's not up to any sort of carrying and fetching, von Stalhein.» The German merely smiled, turning back to his over-taken charge, lowering his voice till it fairly oozed seduction.

«I wasn't thinking of anything so crass,» he said daintily, lowering his hand to Biggles cheek from his flushed forehead.

Removing his hand, he walked round the fire to the place where he had dropped his greatcoat, when Lacey had attacked him. He should have been resentful for that sneak attack, but oddly enough he was not. He could not say he would not have tried the same in a similar situation; not that he would own to it.

He picked up the coat and, returning to Bigglesworth's side, draped it over the pilot's prone form. He was cold too, but the other man needed it more. Von Stalhein knew perfectly well that the more time passed, the more likely he was to be overpowered by one of the Englishmen. Lacey had learnt his lesson, yes - but only for a short time. Hopefully, his current consideration would earn him some advantage later on, and he would need all of it if he was to successfully complete his mission and bring back the blueprints.

A slight chill ran down his spine despite himself, and it was not entirely due to the low temperature; he knew too well what was the fate of those agents who failed, and he had too often been beaten by Bigglesworth. This might very well be his last chance; not to mention the matter of his pride, which had all those years been reduced to tatters by the only man to outsmart him in his long career. Luck had played its part, naturally, but luck was a fickle mistress. Perhaps it was time it changed sides.

He checked his watch and scowled when he realized it was broken. That was probably because of the crash. He wished he could go back to the remains of the plane, to get back what could still be used, but that would be complicated if he was to keep an eye on the British at the same time. Maybe, if Lacey and Bigglesworth gave their word not to try anything... He could tell them he was going to fetch the first-aid kit, which would be of use anyway, and that would give them enough of an incentive to cooperate. If he did find the first-aid kit, then he could use the stimulants to help him keep awake. That would have to wait until dawn, but it ought not be more than an hour or two; and as well it should not, for he was finding it harder and harder to keep his eyes open.

Glancing at the Englishmen, von Stalhein hoped they would not make things complicated. The meagre advantage his lüger gave him was balanced out by the fact that there were two of them, and he had only two bullets left.

* * *

><p>Algy kept an eye on von Stalhein with a suspicion that was only matched by his astonishment when the German gave Biggles his coat. The astonishment gave way to a doubled suspicion; if anything, von Stalhein was being <em>too<em> nice, although Algy found it hard to put von Stalhein and _nice_ in the same sentence. It was too unexpected, too unlike the German, not to hide something fishy. Then again, he could not really complain as long as Biggles benefitted from it; and undeniably, he had stopped shivering.

Seeing von Stalhein look at his watch, Algy glanced at his own mechanically. It was past four in the morning. Soon enough, it would be daybreak, and then... what? They had to find a way to signal their friends and overpower von Stalhein, not necessarily in that order. But the first did not know where to look, and the latter had a gun. The truth was that Algy needed a plan.

Maybe... if he found a way to convince von Stalhein to leave them alone, to go fetch more wood or water or something, he and Biggles could do some brainstorming and find some great idea together. Von Stalhein would not go without some sort of assurance on their part, but if they promised not to _try_ anything, it did not mean they promised not to _plan_ anything. It was a long shot, but his best bet so far.


	8. Matters of Survival

**A/N : Many thanks to my anonymous reviewer. It's really nice to get some feedback.  
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**Chapter 8**** - Matters of survival**

* * *

><p>Von Stalhein shifted on his seat, keeping the blood flowing to his extremities as he thought about the situation. There was certainly a need for first aid here, and stimulants in his case. No need to keep the British awake.<p>

Carefully he eyed their surroundings once more, looking for something he could use to tie up his cumbersome prisoners. The rain dripped on, but he paid it no heed. There was plenty of water nearby, their limited explorations told them that much, meaning there was no need to save the rain water.

No rope, of course, and it was too chilly now for him to insist they lost their shirts to tie themselves up. He eyed the door and squinted through the rain, unsure if it was his imagination or if it was lessening.

«Lacey, gehen Sie..» embarrassed, he cleared his throat, forgetting both to switch back to English and that the airmen both spoke more than passable German, learnt behind enemy lines.

«Reckon it is clearing.» Algy had understood the command at once, crossing slowly to the entrance to peer out. «Brr! cold still. Although warmer than you'd expect, given the rain. Maybe being on a nice tropical island will finally be in our favour.»

He grinned as he wandered back. «As I recall, sunrise is at 6 sharp. Can set your watch by it, they say, on the equinoxes. Well, we aren't too far away from the shortest night, so we should expect day in, about...» Again he glanced at his watch, «three quarters of an hour.»

Wrapping thin arms about himself he returned to his spot, not even attempting to shift a little closer, though he endeavoured to examine Biggles from that far away. «It won't get warm till about an hour after that,» he informed von Stahlein coolly, «And until then Biggles won't be up to anything much.» A yawn shook him, jaw stretching wide and a great sigh leaving him as he added ruefully, «Neither will I, more's the pity. Did you search the wreck thoroughly, before you left?»

«No. It was dark and wet, and you needed escorting.» Short, sharp words, but in his mind there formed a plan. It would clearly be to their advantage for him to leave them alone but equally clearly it was impossible for them to gain anything from him unless he went. He was the one who could search the crash and make use of many of the supplies - some of them unusual to say the least. Nothing like being the national guinea-pig.

«So there'll still be a first aid kit there, a picnic basket, a...»Algy had to expand still further on what he was now dreaming was in the wreck, «A hammock, a bath and clean change of clothes, a...»

«Well, there'll be a first aid kit and some food,» von Stahlein agreed, warily, «but it's in a secure location, so it doesn't bump about during flight. You can only follow the signs if you know what they are.»

It sounded a little far-fetched to his ears but the British seemed to take it in as perfectly normal. Maybe they were also beginning to deploy such equipment? but that couldn't be possible!

«How far do you trust our word?» Algy asked then, fixing von Stahlein with a curious eye.

«What are you going to give me your word to do?» von Stahlein had to admit they'd kept to their word all the time he'd known them, except perhaps the brief moments when, as Biggles would argue, it had been Brunow's word instead.

«We'll stay here.» Biggles promised, deep within the fold of a coat a little too big for him. Algy nodded, «We won't attempt to leave the cave, unless, of course, we are forced to, until you come back.»

It seemed almost too good to be true, «Will you prevent me from returning to the cave?»

That was a tough one, but clearly he wouldn't leave if they didn't promise and a good plan would be needed anyway. «We won't.»

«Very well. I will take the coat from Bigglesworth and leave. When I am gone, Lacey, you may go and sit with him. That is all.» The tall figure limped out, swinging his coat around him as he did so.

* * *

><p>«Wish we'd been planning on high-level flying, now.» Algy grimaced as he felt the quickly cooling Biggles, «Would have been warm enough in those suits.» Again he wrapped his arms around the smaller man, pulling him close and, inexplicably, resting his forehead against grimy hair.<p>

«We need a plan. Any ideas?»

The additional warmth brought by Algy's closeness was definitely welcome, especially now that von Stalhein had taken his coat back. Biggles let himself relax in his friend's embrace, though simultaneously he pondered the problem put to him. Thinking and planning was nothing new to him, although in this instance the situation was fairly bad to begin with.

«As I see it, we have three separate problems to deal with,» he said slowly. «The first is friend Erich, of course. The second is the reason for his presence here; and the last is to signal our friends and find a way off this island.»

«Right,» Algy said, sounding a little more confident now that Biggles was well enough to take charge. «Well, we can always hope for Bertie and Ginger to find this island, in which case they'd certainly notice the remains of our kite, but I reckon that's unlikely to happen, at least for the time being. They have no way of knowing where that secret base was located to begin with, and we're quite a way off from that place.»

«True enough,» admitted Biggles. «I wonder if von Stalhein's radio is still working...»

«I hope not,» Algy exclaimed. «Otherwise he'll be calling in his friends as we speak.»

«I doubt if it does work,» Biggles said dismissively. «If it did, he would have called them already. But perhaps we can scrounge together pieces of his and our radio and end up with one working apparatus.»

«That's a possibility,» Algy agreed, «but it's a long shot. I mean, his radio will be a completely different model from ours, and it all depends on how badly it was knocked about.»

Biggles had a wan smile as he moved a little in Algy's lap to find a more comfortable position. «The only other ideas I can come up with are to build a raft, or to wait and hope there will be a boat passing by - there ought to be some french and australian traffic in the vicinity. It's not unlikely fishermen would come near this island, or some cargo.»

«I'm not too keen on the raft idea,» Algy grimaced. «I'm prone to seasickness,» he added jokingly. «Anyway, all this is good and well, but it doesn't amount to much so long as von Stalhein has his gun.»

But Biggles shook his head. «Oh, I'm not too worried about that. He'll have to sleep sooner or later, and he knows it. We'll have our chance soon enough.»

«I guess you're right,» Algy said, and he let out a big yawn. «I'm getting too old for this sort of thing,» he grumbled.

That drew a laugh from Biggles. «Well, we can't do much for the time being, so you ought to get some sleep. I'm feeling better so I'll keep watch.»

Algy hesitated only a second. He knew he would need his strength, and he trusted Biggles. «All right, but wake me the moment that snake von Stalhein gets back, or if you feel any worse.»

He heard more than he saw Biggles smile. «Don't worry, I will.»

* * *

><p>Just before dawn was rumoured to be the coldest hour of the day, a reputation that was well-deserved, von Stalhein thought as he strode down the slope. To top it all, the night was still dark and the ground slippery, which was not a surprise after that downpour they had had. At least it was not raining now so much as it was drizzling. He only hoped he would have no difficulties in finding the <em>flugzeug<em>... the plane. Tiredness made him forget his English. Von Stalhein shook his head and focused on the path ahead.

As much as he could see, the vegetation was rachitic and scattered, although there was something more like a forest farther down. Several times, he stumbled over a loose rock and nearly fell; the third time it happened, he let out a nasty curse in German, something he would not have cared to repeat in the presence of someone else. He kept walking, and after a long while began to wonder if he was going in the right direction. He could not tell how long it was since he had left the cave. Something like half an hour, he reckoned, but he could not be certain. He should have confiscated Lacey's watch as a war prize to replace his own, although he disliked anything that could be even remotely considered like a petty theft; he had too much pride for that. Never mind, he would make do. But where was that _verdammt _plane?

He may have got lost and not found his way for a while yet, had the sun not eventually risen, giving him enough light despite the clouds to find his way more easily. Now he recognized this broken lump of rock to his right. He had probably made a few unintentional detours, but after that it only took him five minutes to find the wreck. He could not have remained lost for a long time anyway, he thought as he made his way to the remains of the machine; the island was too small for that.

The plane was a sore sight to behold, its nose crushed and the machine broken in two pieces. One thing was for certain; it would never fly again. At least it had not caught fire; there had been stories of planes that burnt hours after crashing. But with this incessant rain, there was no danger of that. Carefully, von Stalhein climbed on board and began his search. He went first for the first-aid kit, then checked for any food and other useful objects he could lay his hands on. Unfortunately, that plane had never been meant to remain for a long time in the air, and so there was little food to be found. A bag of sweets, two chocolate bars and a bottle of beer was the best von Stalhein was able to find, along with a half-full pack of cigarettes. Russian cigarettes at that, he thought with distaste, but put the pack in his pocket anyway.

Next he went to examine the engine, and more specifically the gasoline tank. Some of it remained, not much but enough to help light a fire in case of need. After a quick search, Erich lay his hands on an empty jerrycan, and he filled it with the gasoline, trying to waste as little as possible. When he was done, he looked coldly at his prize. The pile was rather pathetically small, though it would be hard enough to bring it back to the cave. Opening the first-aid kit, he checked its contents, clucking his tongue impatiently when he noticed the lack of any strong drug. There were two shots of penicillin, but apart from that there was not much to be found better than bandages and disinfectant. Then he saw the small plastic pill-box he had been looking for. It contained a dozen pills, and a sheet of instructions written in Russian, which was not a problem for him. With those, he was confident he could stay awake at least two or three days, possibly more. Past that time... he would see then. He swallowed one of the pills, and put the box in his pocket.

There was one last thing he needed to do before he got back. He made his way to the cockpit, and rummaged around for the maps and papers he knew must be lying around. A hiss of pain and a curse escaped his lips when he cut his hand on a shard of glass, but he found what he was looking for and, drawing out his lighter, set fire to the papers. Not before they were reduced to ashes did he let go of them. The really important documents were already safely hidden, but he did not care for the British to have a copy of Soviet tactical maps and codes through his own carelessness if he could avoid it.

That important job finished, he took a few more minutes to take a look at the radio, but it was as he had assessed the night before ; it would never transmit again. Satisfied there was nothing more he could do, he put together the meagre equipment he had salvaged and began his walk back to the cave.

* * *

><p>Algy woke up with a jerk. Fuzzily, he looked through his eyelids at the daylight that crept inside the cave, and let out a lazy yawn.<p>

«Awake already?»

Algy looked down at Biggles, whose head was still resting on his thigh, and smiled. «I don't sleep well when in an hostile environment. How long have I been asleep?»

«About two hours. Feel better?»

«Much,» Algy admitted. The dull weariness that made his limbs feel like lead was gone for the time being, replaced by the nervous irritation brought by lack of sleep. «I know what I want,» he sighed. «A searing hot cup of strong, black coffee with a lot of sugar and toast.»

«I'm afraid you'll have to do without it.»

Algy sighed again, but as there was nothing to it he sat up straighter and looked around them. Outside, the day seemed to be grey, cold and uninviting, but it was not raining anymore and the light of the sun could be seen through the cloud layer.

«Shouldn't von Stalhein be back by now?» Algy remarked for the first time since he had woken up. «Not that I miss him, but...»

«I wouldn't worry yet,» Biggles said. «It may have taken him a while to find what he was looking for in the wreck.»

Algy took this opportunity to cast a sidelong glance at his friend. Biggles sounded stronger than the day before, but paradoxically he looked worse in the daylight than he had in the flickering luminosity of the fire. His cheeks were sunken, his eyes gaunt, and his complexion grey. His being unshaven, dirty and dishevelled did not add to the beauty of the picture, nor did his eyes, which were still bright with fever. Biggles saw the look Algy gave him, and he looked away with a minute sigh.

«You should have some more water,» Algy suggested. And, as Biggles hesitated, he insisted, «Go ahead, there's as much water as we need outside. I'll go get some more later.» Without waiting for a reply, he gave the bottle to Biggles, who surrendered and drank slowly. He was stoppering the bottle when the sound of footsteps, with the characteristic dragging noise of a limp, made them look up at the entrance.

Von Stalhein entered with an armful of various pieces of equipment, which he set down carefully away from the fire. He too looked grey, Algy thought with some satisfaction, though that was probably more due to sleep deprivation than sickness like Biggles. Mind you, he himself probably did not look much better.

«I see your errand was successful,» he asserted, his eyes already set on the first-aid kit. He noticed the rest of it too. The bottle of beer was so incongruous and unexpected that he had to smile when he saw it; not that it would not be nice to have some later in the day.

Wordlessly, von Stalhein handed Algy the first-aid kit. He looked even more dour than usual, his lips set in a thin, irritated line, but Algy had better things to do than worry about the German's state of mind. Quickly, he rummaged through the contents of the kit, and could not keep back a groan of disappointment when he saw that not only there was not much to be found inside, but even better the labels were all written in German or in Russian. He had a fair idea what some of them were, but dared not improvise with that sort of thing.

«Von Stalhein?»

The German looked up from the spot where he had sat with a weary groan, near the fire. «_Ja_?» he asked curtly. «What is it, Lacey?»

«I can't read those.»

Looking rather exasperated although he forced a patient look on his face, the German stood up to take a look, and translated for Algy. As it was, the kit contained some penicillin - which Algy dared not use unless Biggles got very much worse - but apart from that, nothing much more potent than aspirin. Well, the aspirin would be better than nothing, thought Algy. Biggles had drifted to a slight doze, but he would give him some when he woke. Before he closed the kit again, however, Algy noticed something strange; one of the pockets of the kit was empty, as though something had been removed from it. He gave von Stalhein a thoughtful glance as he slowly put the kit away for later use, a look the German returned without much amiability.

«I'm going to go look for some food,» Algy announced.

«You certainly shall do nothing of the sort,» was the not unexpected, curt answer.

«For Pete's sake, we've been through that once already!» Algy let some of his own exasperation show in his voice. «One of us will have to go sooner or later. Either I go, or you go, but we can't go on like this without any food. It's a matter of survival now. Surely you understand that.»

«Of course,» von Stalhein said, sarcastic. «And I suppose you'll ask me to give you my gun so you can hunt, hmm?»

«I would if I thought there was any chance you'd give it to me,» Algy admitted with a small grin. «But I was rather hoping to see if I can find wild berries, or perhaps catch a small animal. Maybe I could set traps. And there are chances I'll be able to find shellfish of some sort on the beach, possibly crabs too.»

Von Stalhein hesitated. As suspicious as he was, he could not deny the truth of Algy's point.

«Oh, come now, Erich.» (Biggles had woken up). «One of us will have to look for some food at some point, Algy's right.»

Von Stalhein pursed his lips. «Very well,» he said eventually, though reluctantly. «You may go, Lacey.»

Algy jumped to his feet, showing more energy than he really felt. But he preferred to be doing something, anything, rather than this inactivity that weighed him down. Gamely, he left the shelter of the cave.

* * *

><p>Silence reigned in the cave after Algy had left. Von Stalhein gave Biggles frequent looks; the same Algy had been giving him only a moment earlier.<p>

«How do you feel, Bigglesworth?» he asked finally.

The question was unusual enough, at least coming from that man, to draw raised eyebrows. «Not too bad, thank you,» Biggles said, though he could not help but find the exchange absurd. «And you?»

Von Stalhein's face may have been set in stone, so expressionless it was. «Perfectly well,» he said, though the answer was as obvious a lie as Biggles' own.

Biggles watched von Stalhein through half-lidded eyes. The German was sitting near the fire, eyes lost in the distance, with a somewhat hallucinated look. After a while, he extracted a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lit one with slow, careful and deliberate moves.

«I wouldn't mind one of these,» Biggles observed.

Von Stalhein glanced at him, then at the cigarettes. «If you insist, though it is at your own risk.»

«I beg your pardon?» Biggles let out, surprised.

«They are Russian.» Von Stalhein seemed to consider that answer self-explanatory.

«I hardly think that's as much a problem here as anywhere else.» Biggles commented dryly, holding out his hand slightly, «Can we afford to let the fire go out?»

The change of direction was brought on by his leaning forward to light the slim roll between his fingers. There was no need to go running out of fuel but if they let it burn out and couldn't light it again...

«Oh, I've a lighter and I know the Honourable Lacey has at least one box of matches with him.» The way von Stahlein said 'honourable' - dismissive and sneering simultaneously - upset Biggles, though he tried not to show it. «In that case we needn't waste any more fuel.» He commented, raising the cheap _papirosa_ to his mouth.

Von Stahlein watched as Biggles drew in the smoke, blowing it out almost immediatly with trembling shoulders. «I see what you mean.» he tried cautiously, when the almost-coughing had stopped.

Under cover of the attack, von Stalhein had slipped to sit next to him, taking the spot the opposite side of Algy's. «It is perhaps too soon for you to be smoking,» he questioned, not feigning this concern at all. The pills had dulled the need for sleep, reversed some of the symptoms of tiredness but had yet to make his brain work as smoothly as it did in his office on a Monday afternoon. Perhaps settling so close wasn't appropriate just yet, but that didn't occur to him. In a strange way he cared for his enemy, though a very strange way it was, and in this state he was more likely to start showing it.

«I have to have something.» Biggles pointed out, reasonably, twisting around to look at him, «There's not much to eat and there'll be a wait till that's remedied.» he realised he was speaking as he would to a compatriot, an aquaintance like Mac had been and tried to get up the energy to make his voice more stern.

* * *

><p>The sun had risen fully now though it wasn't yet at a height to make the slippery floor steam, for which Algy was grateful. This was clearly an island visited fairly infrequently, not housing any permanent residents. He followed the land, keeping the stream on his left and his eyes peeled for any signs of food. Plenty of bushes around, some bearing things he recognised as edible, some as poisonous and some fruits which he'd seen rarely in England. The idea of a snare trail, although it suggested work and a certain settling in, was growing and he cast about for a place to begin.<p>

Every few hundred feet the stream gave a turn and many of these were forced by steep- sided rocks, creating pools on one side and beaches on the other. Crouching at the next one he came to, Algy could make out traces of previous prints and was satisfied animals would come here to drink. Carefully, pulling out the slim blade he'd managed to conceal from the first aid kit and using supple twigs and sacrificing bits and pieces of his shirt, he arranged some simple spring traps. They wouldn't kill outright, unfortunately, but he didn't have the equipment, or time and inclination, to arrange for that to happen. He or von Stahlein should be able to get out in another few hours to check, anyway.

He turned and went back up the river, stopping to make a few more snares both along the river bank and a few feet in, under the trees. He tried a couple of different types, sure that one, at least, would be successful. Nearing the caves now and feeling the beginnings of a warm sun on him, Algy pulled off his shirt at the next pool on 'their' side.

Crouching, he dipped it in and gave himself a brisk rub-down, rolling up his trouser legs and removing boots and socks to wade in a few feet, eyes alert for unwelcome attention. Bending to wash his socks, he didn't hear the ground-pheasant strut out of the undergrowth towards the water, stop, peer at the strange appirition, whiter than anything she had seen for a long time, determine it was little threat and continue, deviating only slightly. So it was with some surprise, having backed out on to the shingle and dried his feet with a grubby handkercheif, wrung out his socks, manouvred his feet into boots, wriggling around to limit any pressure points, soaking and wringing out his handkercheif and draping both over his shoulders, that Algy turned and discovered his closest snare held fresh meat.

Hastily he cast around for a vine or strong piece of grass, intending to throttle the struggling bird before taking it back to be - joy of joys - plucked, gutted and sliced before being cooked.

* * *

><p>«Until Lacey gets back, you mean?» Erich inquired carefully, draping an arm casually near to Biggles' thigh, «He said he wanted to set traps and collect fruit or something. He could be gone for hours.»<p>

He held out his right hand and took the immediately offered cigarette, placing his thin lips where Biggles had placed his and breathing in the acrid smoke shallowly. He raised his eyes to peer at Biggles grey ones, only to find they were caught up in the dying embers. Well, it gave him a chance to study Bigglesworth as he hadn't been able to for some time.

«Well, until he's back, I won't be going anywhere, so you may as well tell me what you've been up to since I last saw you,» Biggles averred, glancing up into the surprisingly warm gaze and accepting the cigarette back again. «Unless that would be telling?» His lips quirked upwards and von Stahlein smiled back, amused.

«Some of it would be,» he admitted, «But I am just here as a consultant.» The last was said a little bitterly but was warmer than normal.

Biggles shifted, unconsciously his cold body wanted to be nearer the heat, no matter who was providing it. «Surely in the last few years you must have done something else?» He thought for a moment then added, «You know, we actually don't know much about each other. I don't even know if you've married yet.»

The last time he'd heard talk about von Stahlein there had been mutterings of a girl - woman, he supposed - and he'd extricated himself from any involvement by pointing out that doing a bit of spying was certainly as far as he'd ever go - was almost further than he'd want to go anyway. He'd put his foot down at blackmail and kidnapping. From what he hadn't heard since he'd assumed nothing had come of the idea anyway.

«Oh, that story reach England, did it? For weeks it seemed all everyone at the office wanted to do was ask me how it was going with her, yet it never really went anywhere.» Von Stalhein smiled tiredly, «She was nice enough; she liked me dearly, I think, and I certainly didn't dislike her, but there was nothing deep and meaningful about it.» His voice left no hint of regret at leaving her but his eyes showed that something deep and meaningful, or even something a little bit anything, would be welcome.

Biggles shrugged, «That's often the way, isn't it. the perfect match isn't that really, or isn't followed up on well enough.» There must have been a spot of fever colouring his speach and not just his suddenly rising temperature because he added, «At least, so it seems for me. Doomed to Bacherlorship for all eternity.»

Von Stalhein held his tongue for a moment, weighing up the options. Either he suggested that needn't be and that you needn't have wife to make you happy, or he pointed out that living with Algy hardly counted as bacherlorship. His own selfishness won out and he opened his mouth, turning towards Biggles.

«It is not a daunting prospect, you know. A man with a wife may not be as happy as a man with good friends.»

Biggles' face lit up as he heard Algy's tread and he turned, peering over his right shoulder and touching his thigh against von Stahlein's for three moments before turning back to twist the other way.


	9. The Reason Why

**Chapter 9 - The Reason Why**

* * *

><p>Dead bird in one hand, shirt around his neck with the bottom tied up with the almost-dry handkerchief, Algy filled the impromptu carry-bag with what motley collection of food he could find. Briefly he had dared hope there would be breadfruit growing nearby but he made do with banana, an almost-red mango and a papaya. In his free hand he clutched a coconut, found washed down the stream. He'd shaken it and ascertained it wasn't dry yet but how much could be used of it and how much rich flesh they should eat were matters not settled in his own mind.<p>

His socks squelched with each step but his feet, lovely, clean and cool, felt better for it. He felt as though he'd had a lovely night's rest, not two hours slumber sitting upright near an almost fire. The feeling wouldn't last, but he appreciated it while it did as he hurried back, long strides making way for shorter ones as he encountered more slippery ground, begining to steam ever so slightly as the sun heated it.

Before he left the stream he crouched down - no easy task hung as he was - and took some deep mouthfuls, swishing some round and spitting it out to make up for a more fastidious toilette. Carefully he peered round the edge of the darker cave, not wanting to walk into a trap. Old Erich was getting awfully close to Biggles, but with that far away look in his eyes which gave Algy an inkling into what had been in the missing pocket of the first aid kit.

Dryly he called out, «Knock Knock!» and was rewarded with Biggles' head whipping round to smile at him. «Algy! You haven't been long. What have you...» Algy came closer to the fire, ignoring von Stahlein's fingers shifting to his belt, and lowered the bird and the fruit with a half-groan. «There's a whole line of snares that will have to be checked, von Stahlein, and you and I are the only two who can do it. This bird here was unlucky in its choice of breakfast. Since you have the only knives, you'll have to be in charge of preparations.»

Biggles flicked the cigarette into the embers and looked at the banana appreciatively. This may well have had something to do with Algy holding the whole bunch up near his head so he could display them, proving also he had left his jacket behind as a pillow.

«Do you think we needn't have standards of dress here?» von Stahlein inquired as he glumly took out two knives, trying to work out which Briton to give one to, «Please put on your shirt.»

Algy shrugged, tossing a banana to each man, «I took a chance to wash it. I'll leave it outside to dry a little more. Some time in the sun is rather invigorating and it's as warm outside as it is in here now. Shall we move out to the _stoep_ now?»

Von Stahlein raised his eyes at the Afrikaans but could see why that word was used as the most appropriate as he easily balanced bird and knife on the space at the front of the cave.

«Pity we haven't anything to boil it in - it would make plucking much easier,» Biggles commented around his banana, sitting nearer Algy than von Stahlein and watching his partner try and break open the coconut with knife and rock.

Unfortunately, the coconut still had its shell, and breaking it open would be no easy task, as Algy was soon to find out. With growing frustration he tried to cut it open, but only managed to remove small slivers, without really cutting deep. The blade of the knife was quickly becoming blunter and blunter, which did not help any. It was with some feeling of exasperation that Algy noticed that von Stalhein was making quick work of the bird, being already halfway through plucking it. He had thought he was giving the dirtier work to the German; now he was regretting not giving him the coconut.

«Maybe we should start with the other fruit,» Biggles suggested tactfully. «The coconut will keep longer, so we can keep it against future need.»

«Why, yes, you're right,» Algy agreed immediately, glad for the honourable escape. He set the coconut down beside him.

Von Stalhein looked up from his work and glanced at the fruit. Algy thought he saw a derisive smile form on his lips, but it was gone immediately. «Perhaps you can prepare a sharp stick to cook the bird, then,» the German suggested mildly.

«All right.» Algy took a look at their meager stock of wood and selected one long straight, narrow branch to serve as a skewer. He chose the wood green so it would have less chances of catching fire while the bird was roasting and began to sharpen it.

Meanwhile, von Stalhein had finished his plucking and he cut open the bird with fluid, precise moves that suggested it was not the first time he had done that sort of thing. Biggles watched and wrinkled his nose slightly when the German scooped the bird's entrails and threw them away from the entrance of the cave. The bird now was not half as impressive as when Algy had brought it in; it looked indeed twice as small, and it was hard to imagine how three hungry men could be satisfied with so meagre a meal.

«There ought to be more soon,» said quietly Algy, whose mind must have followed a similar line of thought. «When we've had time to check the traps.»

Biggles nodded, though on second thought he did not feel so hungry now. The smell of the food made him nauseous.

Von Stalhein finished slicing the bird and gave the morsels to Algy, who impaled them on his stick and held it above the fire so they would roast. It would only take a few minutes, thought Biggles, and he looked at his companions; Algy, who was kneeling near the fire, and von Stalhein who had chosen to sit on the opposite side, near Biggles himself. The oddity of the scene struck him suddenly; they were supposed to be enemies, but despite the omnipresent wariness on both sides, they might as well have been a group of friends gone camping. Maybe that was because there was no hatred between them; they had known each other for too long for that.

What was it von Stalhein had said? _A man with a wife may not be as happy as a man with good friends_... there had been no jealousy when he had spoken so, but perhaps a touch of regret. After all, did not everyone need at least one friend? And, somewhat startled, Biggles thought that perhaps he understood von Stalhein a little better now.

«Here, lunch is ready!» said Algy cheerfully.

Deep in thought, Biggles had not realized that the meat had taken on a brownish colour. Algy served him first and he looked at his share without much enthusiasm. His nausea had not left, but he knew he needed to eat. He noticed also that Algy had given him more than he had kept for himself and von Stalhein, but the German feigned not to notice and Biggles was too weary to argue. His earlier energy had given place to a mind-fogging tiredness, which he was tempted to give in to.

«Not bad,» Algy said after a mouthful. «It tastes of smoke a little, and it could bear some salt... and maybe it's a little burnt at places... but it's not too bad.»

«It is edible,» said von Stalhein dispassionately, apparently impervious to Algy's glare.

Biggles forced himself to take a bite, and hoped he would not be sick later. «It's fairly good,» he said, more to stall before the next bite than because he could really taste the meat in his mouth.

«I suggest we keep the fruit for tonight,» Algy said, «since we're not a hundred percent sure any other of the traps will be successful. Speaking of that, one of us ought to take a look, von Stalhein.»

«You are the only one to know where they are, Lacey,» von Stalhein pointed out somewhat irritably.

«You two could go together,» Biggles suggested. «That way you would both know where they are in case of need.»

Two piercing looks turned his way, looking equally concerned and unenthusiastic.

«I do not think it would be wise...» began von Stalhein.

«Maybe it'd be better if we didn't...» said Algy at the same time.

Their momentum lost, they glared at each other, and Biggles took advantage of it to regain the upper hand.

«Listen, I'm perfectly well, I just need a little quiet to rest.» All right, maybe that was an understatement. «If you both go, you'll both know where the traps are, and you will be able to keep an eye on Algy, von Stalhein. I know you wouldn't have it any other way,» Biggles concluded, with perhaps a touch of irony. «That way everybody is satisfied.»

Neither von Stalhein nor Algy looked any more enthusiastic, but at least they looked a little more accepting. Von Stalhein pursed his lips and Algy glanced at him questioningly. It was understood the German would have the final say in the matter.

«Very well,» he said curtly. «If you are going to rest, then you ought to take this.»

He gave Biggles his coat, who accepted it without a fuss. The German stood and strode outside, hardly taking the time to say above his shoulder: «Well then, shall we go, Lacey?»

Algy looked at von Stalhein leaving, then at Biggles, surprise clear in his eyes.

«Did you notice he hasn't said no to you even once?» he whispered to Biggles, before hastily going after the German.

«No,» Biggles said slowly to himself. «I had not really noticed...» He looked down at the food he still had left and decided to keep it for later. Right now, sleep sounded like a good idea.

* * *

><p>The afternoon was a little warmer, warm enough that von Stalhein did not regret his coat, although cold had at least this one advantage that it made him less sleepy. He would probably need another pill in the evening, and then he should have to mind the secondary effects; headaches, momentary loss of balance, irritability...<p>

A glance at Lacey told him that the Briton was taking long, easy strides, and did not show the tiredness that certainly he must feel. He had to admire at least that; the man's steadfastness, his loyalty, his strength and his common sense in trying circumstances. Bigglesworth chose well his friends, of course, and von Stalhein wondered how it was that Bigglesworth should find such men to accompany him, when he had found none - at least none who had survived the two wars. Leffens had been trustworthy, but he was long dead...

The sound of a plane made them both jump, then look up sharply, though there was nothing to see yet, especially in such cloudy weather. Von Stalhein felt his heart beat faster, and he tore his gaze from the sky to set it on his prisoner. If Lacey was to try anything, now would be the time.

«I don't recognize the sound of the engine,» Lacey said, sounding surprised.

He looked up again and so did von Stalhein, though he kept an eye on him. And then it was there; a plane appeared in their range of vision, flying low. It was small, a one-seater, and not a fighter; a reconnaissance plane, no doubt.

«I've never seen this design before,» Lacey said, sounding properly astonished.

But von Stalhein had, and the knowledge filled him with dread. And that plane's presence there meant nothing good for either himself or the British.

«Hide!» he hissed. «Under the trees - now.»

«But - «

«Move now - or I'll shoot.»

He had drawn his gun from its holster and was pointing it steadily at the Engländer. This time Lacey understood and obediently took refuge under the nearest tree. Von Stalhein followed, his gun still pointed at him though his main concern lay with the plane. It was obviously looking for them. If the pilot had seen them, it would not be long before a ship carrying troops came in the vicinity. And then...

«What the dickens is wrong with you?» growled Lacey. «Whoever that was, they weren't British, so you had nothing to fear from them. They could have rescued us!»

Von Stalhein allowed himself a grim smile. Whatever was in the mind of those people, rescueing two Britishers and one German certainly was not at the top of their to-do list. The only possible reason for their presence could be the documents. And if the pilot had seen them, the only hope they had was that von Stalhein's friends would find out about it before these other people had time to act. Nevertheless, the tensions between his employers and certain other foreign governments was not supposed to be public knowledge, and he did not intend to explain himself to Lacey.

«I don't suppose you will believe me,» he said, «but hiding was in your best interests as well as mine.»

Lacey's resentment seemed to give way to thoughtfulness, though von Stalhein had told him nothing he would not have been able to work out by himself.

«Let us finish checking the traps, then,» he said simply, and von Stalhein nodded.

* * *

><p>Algy and von Stalhein's return woke Biggles from his light slumber, and he found the cave plunged in darkness but for the glowing embers of the fire. There was enough light, however, for him to notice that von Stalhein was scowling deeply and that Algy looked somewhat uneasy, and he wondered if something had happened. They said nothing, however, and set about preparing the one rabbit they had caught in silence.<p>

«Everything all right?» Biggles asked in what he meant to be a carefree voice but came out rather more weakly than he would have liked.

«I don't know,» Algy said slowly. «You didn't hear anything?»

«No,» Biggles said, with a quizzical glance at von Stalhein who said nothing.

«Well, a plane flew over the island,» said Algy slowly. «You were probably asleep.»

Biggles took in a sharp breath and he looked alternatively at the faces of the two other men. He did not understand why they were both so sombre.

«Well, who was it then?» he asked when it appeared Algy would say no more. «Our friends, or Erich's?»He saw von Stalhein jerk slightly his head at the use of his first name – or was it at the enquiry ?

«Neither, it would seem...»

«What?»

Succintly, Algy told Biggles of the events of the afternoon, and Biggles listened intently, eyes set on von Stalhein's face as he tried to read some sort of explanation in his expression. But the German's features were set hard and cold. So, apparently there was someone else in the picture, someone else after the blueprints. Biggles was well aware of the saying that said, 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend' but he also knew that more often than not it was not true.

Biggles' focus shifted back on to Algy and noticed once again how tired he looked. It was a good thing he had had some sleep while he could; he would be able to stand watch while Algy had his rest.

They ate in silence, none of them in the mood for small talk. This time Biggles managed to eat his share, and they shared the fruit as a dessert.

«Roasted rabbit and fruit salad, one could think we're staying at the Crown Plaza,» Algy remarked with a smile. «And for a cheap price, too.»

«I should think that for the price of a crashed plane, you would have better accomodations in England,» von Stalhein sneered. «It is regrettable that, once again, you have found an interest in a business other than your own.»

Algy merely shrugged and did not raise a fuss when Biggles suggested he have some sleep, which was a clue as to how tired he really was. The long shadows of the night were kept at bay by the flames of the fire they had rekindled earlier, and Biggles found himself oddly comfortable, though the warmth that suffused his limbs may have been due more to the fever than to the fire.

Von Stalhein was seated between Biggles, the fire and the exit of the cave, and he peered occasionally outside, where it had begun to rain again though this time it was only a faint drizzle.

«You look tired,» Biggles observed. And it was true; the German had dark rings around his eyes and his shoulders were hunched, although his eyes were as sharp as ever.

«So do you,» was the neutral answer.

«Why be so stubborn about this?» Biggles asked quietly. «You'll have to sleep, sooner or later.»

«Perhaps,» von Stalhein said, his voice even. «But I will not surrender to you, Bigglesworth. Or to anyone, for that matter. Not so long as I can help it.»

Biggles shook his head. «On many things, you and I are alike, or so I've been told more than once. But there is one thing I never understood. Why are you such a bitter enemy of England? The war is over, Erich." Von Stalhein started at the use of his first name, though by now he should be getting used to it, but Biggles went on doggedly. "Defeat is not pleasant, I know. But do you really think that what you do will change anything for the better? You have been working for the East for years now, and what have you gained for it?»

Von Stalhein's face had turned more and more sour as Biggles spoke, but he did not let that deter him.

«Maybe you cannot understand,» the German said. He sounded angry. «You have always been on the winning side. You have never known the shame of defeat...»

«But you can lose with dignity,» Biggles said with some passion. «There is more honour in that than in clinging to a grudge that has no longer any reason to be. What are you fighting for anyway? Personal gain? I know you too well to think that. Honour? Your new friends all but ruined yours. Germany? They ripped it to shreds, and you know it!»

Von Stalhein had turned livid as Biggles spoke, and he jumped to his feet at the last, shouted words.

«Or perhaps you only want revenge, and you don't care what it will cost, to yourself and others,» Biggles concluded with a hint of disdain.

That was the finishing blow. Von Stalhein's fury was too great for him to conceal it, and for a long ten seconds he looked at Biggles, fists clenched, breathing heavily. Then, brusquely, he turned away and walked to the entrance of the cave, staring at nothing in the darkness of the night.

Looking away, Biggles noticed only then that Algy was awake and looking at him with a look of wonder on his face. He felt somewhat embarrassed.

«I didn't mean to wake you,» he said quietly.

«It's all right,» Algy said. «By Jove, I thought he was going to strangle you! If looks could kill..»

«He would not have touched me,» Biggles said with certainty. «He wouldn't hurt a sick man. He's too proud for that.»

«If you say so,» Algy said, though he did not seem much convinced.

«You'd better go back to sleep now,» Biggles advised. «I have a feeling sleep will be scarce in the days to come.»

«I guess so. Wake me up if you feel tired.»

«All right.»

«Well, good night then.» Algy leant back and rested his head on the hard ground of the cave.

Biggles watched him settle again, eyes soft as Algy quickly slipped into sleep - years of snatched naps and hours of staying awake combining in a few soft minutes. However absorbing watching the lines smooth from Algy's face was, though, they didn't distract from the awareness of a less savoury prospect over his left shoulder, huddled in the coat, he was sure.

Biggles wouldn't apologise though, needn't turn around to check on him. Deep down, he knew his words weren't entirely true - von Stalhein wouldn't kill him because he wouldn't kill any sick man. He wouldn't kill him for some other, yet to be absorbed, reason.

* * *

><p>And what did that <em>dummkopf <em>Bigglesworth know about it, anyway? Von Stalhein fumed to himself, the chill from the cave being kept at bay by his determined anger. Thinking back over the words though, he realised they were a fairly accurate description. There was no real gain in what he was doing in the usual sense. He was old - two wars would have done that in a way no number of birthdays ever could. He was scared of sleeping in a room with plumbing next door because the noise the pipes made filtered through to his nightmares, making them writhe into his being. He was hardly a poster boy of an honourable man, a decorated hero that no-one could know was decorated.

So why did he do it?

Grimly he wrapped his arms around himself, turning to slip back towards the fire. Lacey, head turned away from the flame, pillowed on his shirt, covered by his jacket, was sleeping deeply. Bigglesworth, arms around his knees, leaning against the now dry stump brought in for this very purpose, broke off gazing into the darkness to check on Algy every now and then.

As von Stalhein watched, Biggles shifted his left hand uneasily, bringing it out from its slot in the puzzle he'd created of himself. Gently, he stroked back a lock of the long hair Algy habitually refused to have cut, pulling the slipping jacket up higher before returning to his brown study.

A sudden frustration fled the German and he slithered back to his previous spot - his more recent seat usurped entirely by the sprawling airman. «You seem very sure of your safety,» he commented, when Biggles merely glanced at him.

«And why shouldn't I be?» Biggles returned evenly. «You know you won't kill me or Algy and there's been no hint the plane you heard and saw earlier has landed.»

Von Stalhein had to concede those points, «So there's only us three men making up the entire island's human polpulation. Two British and a German, pitted against each other in so many ways.» His voice was bitter and he shook his head to try and remove the ringing in his ears, making the dizzy feeling worse. Not the appropriate time to have another pill, then, despite the tiredness. Not yet.

«Yet pitted against a third enemy we do very well.» stated Biggles, thinking back over the small and not so small respites they had given each other when mutually needing to deal with something else.

«That's usually the case.» Von Stalhein frowned. «What is this conversation turning to, though? A philosophical discussion? You are becoming wearisome in your concern for my welfare.»

There was a silence of the sort which can only occur two hours after sunset on a tropical island, sitting near a fire. Not really silent, with birds, fish, a small mammal or two going about their own business, the fire talking to itself, but quiet enough with the two of them waiting for the answer, to seem silent.

Eventually, after a pause to think, observe and attempt to categorise, Biggles turned his light eyes onto von Satlhein's darker ones, «Am I? When was the last time someone actually asked you how you were?»

Perhaps von Stalhein was expecting a logical argument, at the end of which Bigglewsorth would have proved he was perfectly within his rights to talk as he was doing, and the short answer caught him unprepared. Perhaps it said more to him that it needed to. Either way, von Stalhein was silent for even longer, letting the sounds of life continuing in the undergrowth swirl around them, between them, before answering.


	10. Uneasy Truce

**A/N - Well, this marks the middle of the story, give or take a thousand words. I thank everyone who reviewed this far - it's much appreciated.**

**Also, the dragon fruit mentioned in the previous chapter has been ruthlessly edited out due to Maverick informing me that such fruit only flower on a full moon. Since that poor dragon fruit was not starring (or even guest-starring) in the rest of the story, I plain simply erased it, never to be heard of again.  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 10 - Uneasy Truce<br>**

_The first thing which happened when he came into this place was music started playing. Not gramophone records, scratchy and warm, nor the traitorous bangings of an old piano, even a new one. There was just music, possibly an organ, perhaps a chamber orchestra. Algy thought hard and came up with the name of the piece- water music. Near the end. _

(upon waking he'd remember the feeling of the piece, consider it some more and come up with lentement, which he eventually confirmed. For now it was just the calm before the end, as he'd first thought of it on first hearing it as a small, unhappy boy)

_There were now shapes he paid attention to - shown clearly at the door of the cave, somehow one of them in a plane, hovering like a new thing coming out of Sikorsky's factory._

_He slid closer, peered at them, but the sun was in his eyes - it was sun set outside - and he could see only silhouettes. Enough to make them out. Ginger, holding out a hand, balancing easily against the winds buffeting the plane._

_Bertie peered back at the figure standing on the plane, holding the controls steady, mouthing words towards the men standing at the cave entrance._

_Biggles and Algy stood there, arm in arm._

* * *

><p>«The last time someone enquired about my health ? Not as long ago as you seem inclined to think.» von Stalhein responded eventually, deciding an almost-truth was better. «We're very well mannered, you know.»<p>

Biggles raised an eyebrow but refrained from commenting on some of the less mannered things that had occured to them under von Stalhein's care.

«You have a close group of friends busily planning how to get you back to them, I take it. Do you think they'll get here before or after Bertie and Ginger do the same for Algy and me?»

Cool curiousity, a happy by-product of keeping down two smallish meals and getting more sleep, healing reasonably quickly, coloured Biggles voice.

Von Stalhein laughed. It started as a small smirk, then grew, out of control if the eyes were anything to go by, into a smile, an open mouthed little giggle and finally full-blown hysterical laughter.

Biggles eyed him concernedly, surprise written clearly on his features.

* * *

><p><em>Algy, the one who was aware of the music shifting, moving smoothly from comforting Handel to a far pricklier Bach, blinked once or twice. <em>

_How could he be there, being rescued by Ginger and Bertie, standing with Biggles and enjoying a last hand-squeeze before they slotted in to uncomfortable quarters and were separated again, and being left behind as well?_

_Dumbly he staggered - proper movement seemed beyond him - trying to speak, to arrest this travesty. Bertie continued making hurry-up motions to Ginger, who paused momentarily to look straight at Algy, into his eyes, and Algy strained further at what he saw - the certain knowledge of his own abandonment._

_The glance was picked up on by Biggles and his Algy and they turned and looked and Algy heard laughter- high enough to be Biggles normal, occasionally annoying laugh but clearly not. _

_The orchestra in his head - now grown to one to rival the combined Symphony orchestras of Lower England, continued unthwarted through to the last half cadence of Rachmaninov's Piano Concerto - all deep basses making his skin prickle and his eyes do the same. Panting, he tried to call out but it was no good and desperately he remembered, suddenly, it was a dream, and tried to pinch himself._

_He couldn't move, couldn't move at all._

* * *

><p>He knew he should stop, knew he was making too much of it, knew all these things, but didn't care.<p>

Or rather, didn't care enough. Because there was nothing to care about anymore, not one thing, not anything other than one thing. And he couldn't have it.

So Erich von Stalhein, who refused to cry at even his family funeral, when the house had been felled and killed the remains of the von Stalhein line, who refused to cry as he killed and schemed and lived his life, threw back his head and laughed.

It might have been a little hysterical, it might have started a little forced, but it felt...

* * *

><p>Biggles considered, seriously for a moment, that he'd actually fell more ill than he'd thought and missed the transport plane out to the madhouse, where now he was living. The hysterically laughing man in front of him, now lying on the ground and whooping quietly, hands clasped tightly, was causing peals of high-pitched hysteria to fling themselves off the cave.<p>

«If there was anyone here, they'd soon find us» Biggles reflected, looking down on the floor for some more interesting company, or a sign of release.

«Algy! Algy, come on, old chap. Come on, Algy, wake up, I say.» His fever-dulled brain realised with considerable speed, that he couldn't deal with the aftermath of a hysterical von Stalhein and Algy simultaneuosly. The German wasn't actually hurting anyone, apart from their ears, and he'd get over that soon enough.

Algy was thrashing, calling out as he did very rarely but always with a vengeance. In moments like these the lines which slipped away from Algy's slumbering form came back ten fold and he was apt to become violent if attempts were made to wake him by prodding only.

Grimly, Biggles slid his arms free, talking the whole time and wrapping them around Algy's shoulders, levering him upwards. Not comfortable at all, but it was better than the alternative which he didn't contemplate. Gently, he set about waking him up, talking to him, patting him firmly.

_The laughter went on and on, deviating slightly in pitch and breathiness, but shooting straight at Algy as he glared at the two figures, von Stalhein entwining Biggles' arm in his, stepping backwards into the waiting plane. _

_It's a dream! Algy shouted, opening his mouth, moving his tongue, his lips, hearing nothing at all-dead silence. The orchestra had even packed up and left him alone_

(One day he found that not everyone dreams in sound as well - no one talks, or there are no notes flitting about. Soon after he stopped referring to the dreams at all and made better progress on the piano, slipping into a dream like state when he had to improvise, which was frequently)

_There was someone talking to him though - low and urgent, a familier voice. It's a dream and you've gone but you're talking to me? Algy raged, silently, before his brain caught up._

_'It's a dream and you know it's upsetting me and if I heed your voice I'll be fine' he amended, begining to see sense again._

_Shaking, lonely shoulders wrapped in girl-light arms, firmer than any others, helping him back into a world where things go pretty much as he wants them to, where he can pretty much speak and pretty much move freely._

«Algy! Oh for...»

Biggles broke off as the squirming in his arms became less, then ceased, then started again as the taller man wriggled back to share the log Biggles had been leaning against.

«Thank you.» He murmured, eyeing his friend closely.

Biggles shrugged, «That's alright - you do it for me often enough.» He eyed the very rumpled 'pillow' Algy now resumed wearing, holding out the sleeve for a jacket as well. «You do a better job than I do, I think.»

Algy shrugged, embarrassed. He couldn't very well point out that he had more practice, but nor could he suggest he was closer to Biggles than Biggles was to Algy - despite what some might say, that was rarely the case.

«I'd rather not own up to that,» he tried, then glanced at von Stalhein, now making a few hiccoughing noises and beginning, clearly, to regret the folly of his ways.

«Can I drag him down to the stream to get him to see sense?»

Von Stalhein sat up abruptly at that, all oily smooth once more, «Did you really enjoy our little outing so well, that...»

He broke off at Algy's tight smile and Biggles' stern glare. He'd never know which one did it - the usual obediance for Biggles or the first smile he'd been given from Algy's face.

Either way, he shrank back a little, standing to shake out his clothes, «Ach, do excuse that lapse on my part, if you will. I assure you, Lacey, there is no need to drag me down to the river.»

Algy nodded, settling closer to Biggles and glancing at his watch.

«Well, it's been an eventful few hours already. We won't get many more chances for sleep, I shouldn't think.» He glanced at the two weary faces near him and suddenly burst out, «Look, we're behaving like little idiots. Why don't we all just lie down here - closeish so we can't get up without the other two knowing - and all get to sleep like that. If that other plane comes over again and we need to abandon here, go trampling about a blasted island in the dark, or escaping or what have you, well... I find it hard to fly a plane and sleep at the same time.»

Biggles frowned at the last, about to try the whole thing off as a joke, pointing out Algy had done just that, but thankfully, perhaps, von Stalhein got in first.

* * *

><p>That was either the stupidest or cleverest idea under the sun. Von Stalhein witheld a yawn firmly, judging how much longer he could stave off another pill, how many more pills he had and the toll taken on him already.<p>

A sleep wouldn't go amiss, given their settling down stage - they were certainly drawing closer now, and that emotional exchange after dinner was getting them there faster than you would expect.

And he couldn't do too many more hysterical fits without sinking irreparably low and never being free from them again. There must have been a reaction with the tainted drink he'd had just after the crash to alleviate bruising and concussion.

«It could be a workable idea,» he commented, voice very, very neutral.

«Of course it could.» Algy looked around, «Though we'd need to scrunch up a little, with our limited blanket supply.»

He eyed the drying floor of the cave and stood, shifting back and to the right, closer to the fire, «von Stalhein, if you're in the middle...»

«I'm not in the middle of two British airmen!» von Stalhein shot back, pausing in walking over. «You get in the middle, if you like.»

Algy flushed a little as he floundered then eventually said rather coldly, «I have no wish to be lying between two bodies, thank you very much.»

The idea might have ended there had not Biggles, whose complicity was taken for granted and who was begining to feel somewhat tired, and not at all unlike a school master, levered himself up.

At once, the other two men moved to help him but he was up before they reached him and they stood looking a little sheepish.

«I shall lie down here.» Biggles announced, suiting actions to words and laying his jacket on top of himself, «Algy, you lie on my right, von Stalhein on my left and we can each manage our own blankets as we see fit.»

Algy took this to mean shedding shirt for pillow, jacket for blanket (which ended up half on Biggles, along with Biggles' head on Algy's arm as pillow) and scrunched in close to the chilly- feeling Biggles.

Von Stalhein, somewhat bemused and also a little shocked at the dress code - really, did they need to see Algy's slim waist and strong shoulders all the time? - stiffly lay down on the left as ordered, though he tossed his jacket and his coat over both himself and Biggles, turning onto his back with his right hand under his head.

«Given we are sharing a bed, so to speak,» he added, once the rustling had died down, showing the two airmen were totally happy with their arrangments, «It would be easier to call me Erich, would it not?» The offer was somewhat superfluous when the two British called him that anyway, but he wished to show some good will, especially after that despicable display of emotions from earlier.

A light sigh from Biggles ghosted over his shoulder and onto his neck as the man replied, «Once you stop adressing me as Bigglesworth - you and the boss are the only two that do it, you understand.»

Von Stalhein could feel the movements - they'd each carefully arranged each other for this very purpose - and realised Biggles had nudged Algy, who'd possibly been the cause of the low muttering.

«Ch! I'll call you Erich if you stop adressing me as Honourable - Algernon would do I think.» at another nudge he admitted, «though it would be a little strange, friend Erich. Algy you may as well rename me.»

Von Stalhein nodded, «I shall, Algy." He paused. The familiarity did not come easily to him - at all. In fact, he felt rather awkward now. "Goodnight," he concluded, which saved him from adding anything embarrassing.

He'd meant to stay awake, but the gentle breathing of Biggles, clearly still feeling various ill-effects, and his own tiredness meant he fell asleep just before Algy did.

* * *

><p>Von Stalhein slept better than he had thought he would with constant potential danger around them, and two British airmen who could try and take his gun at any time during his slumber. But he had been on the brink of exhaustion, the crash and various emotions he had been through combining with the lack of sleep to give him a few hours of complete unconsciousness. Every once in a while, when one of the British shifted in his sleep, he started awake, but he went back to sleep as soon as it was ascertained there was no danger.<p>

When he woke for the last time, his head had rolled against Bigglesworth's shoulder, who somehow had got his arm under von Stalhein's neck, forming thus a rather comfortable pillow. The grey light of dawn shone through the entrance of the cave, and von Stalhein sat up carefully. His head spun a little. He was still tired, and desperately hungry as well - and the British would certainly be in a similar state. It would be wise, certainly, to go check the traps and see if they had any breakfast, and perhaps bring back some fruit if he found any, though it was the end of the season.

He rose slowly so he would not rouse Bigglesworth or Lacey - damn those pills, had he really agreed to calling them Algy and... and something else than Bigglesworth? Yes, he had. The memory of his outrageous behaviour from the past night came crashing on him, and he nearly groaned out loud. Curse pervitin and all of its derivatives for its insidious and pervasive effects.

What a fool he must have looked like.

Noiselessly, he slid outside the cave and strode to the stream. A wash would not be amiss, and then he could follow the river to the place where Lacey – Algy – had set the traps. With consummate efficiency, at that. But then, he thought derisively, the British were said to have roots in common with the Germans. Perhaps it was not entirely surprising his worthiest opponents should be from that tiny, arrogant island.

The feeling of the cold water on his skin made von Stalhein shudder but he washed himself entirely, only regretting that he could not wash his clothes as well; but if he tried, they would take a long time to dry in this weather. Then he looked around him; from the stream, which had dug its bed deep between two steep hillsides, he could not see the sea, so he climbed one of the slopes until he could see past the trees. He was not on the highest point of the island, but high enough that he could see most of the sea around them; and he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw nothing at all in the vicinity. Not even his "friends"...

If - or perhaps, _when_ they came, he would keep the two British hidden, and once he had got away from the island, he would find a way to send someone to the island so they could be rescued. Of course, it would have looked better for him if he had been able to make those two particular British prisoners, especially considering the number of times Bigglesworth had foiled him, but despite what Bigglesworth had said, there still was a price he was not willing to pay.

A sudden thought crossed von Stalhein's mind, and he checked his holster. His gun was still there; he was still in control of the situation. But somehow, he thought, perhaps he did not really have to fear anything from the two British...

He went down again to the stream and followed it, taking his time to actually enjoy the stroll. The island held a sort of desolate beauty which he was able to appreciate, and being alone he could relax. Being with the British all the time forced him to be constantly tense, on his guard, wary of anything that would be said or done by either of them.

He had a pleasant surprise when it turned out that one of the traps had caught another rabbit - well, as someone had once told him, there was no such thing as _one_ rabbit. Or perhaps Lac - Algy was just good at setting traps. A useful skill, which von Stalhein might want to learn given the chance (although he drew the line at asking Algy to teach him. There was a limit even to fraternization with the enemy.)

On a whim, he continued down the stream towards the sea, with the vague intent to look if there were any crabs or other sorts of seafood. Rabbits were not being caught quickly enough to satiate three grown men's hunger, and he had a feeling they would get tired of it very soon if they had to stay much longer on this island.

The river flowed into the sea, in a small, protected inlet. Upon arriving on the beach, however, von Stalhein was to have a shock; still far in the distance but getting closer and closer, he immediately spotted the black shape of a ship.

His mind wondered feverishly which ship it was. As far as he knew, there were at least two chances out of three that ship was an enemy.

Taking to his heels, he broke into a run and followed the stream back in the direction of the cave. He was not really in shape for that sort of exertion, but alarm spurred him on and he only stopped twice to catch his breath. It had taken him over an hour to get to the beach; he needed only thirty minutes to get back, although by the end his legs hardly supported him and his head was spinning wildly.

* * *

><p>Algy had not felt so comfortable in days. Huddled with Biggles, he drew in the other man's warmth as well as his familiar presence. He was in no hurry to wake, and he may have dozed back to sleep had not Biggles moved a little, jerking him out of his half-doze. He stretched out his legs, then sat up and rubbed his face, with a rueful smile when he felt the stubble under his fingers. Beside him, Biggles was doing the same.<p>

«Sleep well?» Algy asked, his voice a little croaky.

«Better than I would have expected,» admitted Biggles. «Do you know where...»

A slight shrug answered him. «No idea. Gone to check the traps, maybe. If he had something nasty up his sleeve, he would have shown his hand already.» Those words reminded Algy of what had happened the night before, and he felt his cheek redden a little at the thought of what the German had witnessed. But then, he remembered, he had as much on von Stalhein as von Stalhein had on him, so it ought to be fine. «Why...» began Algy, then he interrupted himself, unsure how to best word it. «Why did you tell him that yesterday?»

«Tell him what?» Biggles asked, perfectly calm.

«About... his allegiance. Do you really believe you can make him change his mind? If there's one thing von Stalhein's good at, that's blind loyalty.»

There was a long silence before Biggles spoke again, so long that Algy thought he was not going to answer - and he might not have, had Algy not been his closest confident.

«I don't know. I think he _knows_ I'm right, but to accept that means to let go of everything he built his life on... not every man is capable of that.» Another silence drawn out before Biggles continued, in a very quiet voice. «But I think he's worth at least the attempt.»

Algy let out a small sigh. He understood; he may not want to, but he did, although he would not have two days ago.

«Well then, what do we do while friend Erich is gone?» he asked, unwilling to continue their first discussion. «What about a joke contest? I think we all need a good laugh.» He gave Biggles one of his rare smiles.

Before Biggles could answer, the sound of footsteps approaching made them rise to their feet, and they turned their heads towards the entrance as a dishevelled von Stalhein made his entrance. He was pale and out of breath, and he had to lean to the wall not to lose his balance.

«Erich - » Biggles began, but the German cut him with an imperious wave of his hand.

«Have a drink,» Algy suggested, managing the impressive trick to make it sound like he only offered because he had nothing better to do with his time. Von Stalhein did not seem to notice and refused with a shake of his head.

«No time,» he said, his agitation such that the hint of an accent tinged his usually flawless English. «We must go at once.»

«Why? What's going on?»

«There is a boat approaching.»

«Which one?» Algy asked immediately, even as he began to gather their meagre equipment.

«I do not know - but we cannot take chances. It is possible it will be your friends, or my friends, or...» he cut himself short.

«Or who else, Erich?» Biggles asked calmly. «The people who sent that plane yesterday?» he continued when no answer was forthcoming. «Who are they?»

«Dangerous,» was the brusque reply. «In any case, we must ascertain who it is that is approaching before we show ourselves.» There was a slight hesitation before von Stalhein added, «I would be willing to suggest a bargain.»

«Always fond of bargains, aren't you?» Biggles' eyes were wrinkled in amusement. «What sort is this one?»

«The only possible sort. If it is my friends who are coming, I will let you go free and say nothing of your presence here. Later, I will arrange for your rescue. If it is your friends, you will do the same for me. If it is neither - then there will be no quandary.»

«But then,» broke in Algy, «how will you explain the crash and the planes?»

Von Stalhein shrugged. «If it is my friends, they will care only about me. I doubt if they would waste time looking for the wrecks and drawing the logical conclusions. If they saw the wreck it will be assumed you died in the crash. I have no doubt I can give a satisfactory explanation should it come to that.»

Algy finished dispersing the fire while keeping an eye on Biggles, waiting to see what he would answer. He knew him well enough to guess what it would be even before his friend spoke.

«I'm sorry, Erich, but I can't agree to that. There is still the matter of your mission - which is no good for England. I may be wrong, but I think you were carrying something in that plane; why else would you have been piloting it in the first place ? I cannot let you take it back behind the Iron Curtain. If you would give it to me, or even destroy it, perhaps we could work something out, but I don't suppose you would agree to that...?» Biggles' voice held a note of interrogation in the last words.

Von Stalhein said nothing for a moment, then shook slowly his head. «We cannot waste time. Let us see first who is coming; we can discuss the situation afterwards.» He looked at Algy, then Biggles. «There may be nothing to discuss at all, in the end,» he concluded quietly.

Swiftly, they finished breaking camp and erasing all trace of their presence, then headed out in the gloominess of a grey mid-afternoon.

«Now that I think of it, weren't we better hidden in the cave?» asked Algy, who was carrying the jerrycan of fuel and finding it rather cumbersome.

«Assuming those are enemies who are coming,» said Biggles, «we would have been trapped the moment they found the cave; and they would have found us, sooner or later.»

«Our only chance to remain hidden is to move constantly,» put in von Stalhein. «That sort of tactic has proven efficient in the past.»

«In Palestine, for instance,» Biggles suggested, a hint of humour in his voice. «You moved so much you managed to be in two places at the same time; let me tell you that has puzzled me greatly for some time.»

As they spoke, von Stalhein had taken the lead and was following the upper slope to the stream. There was more vegetation there than on the rest of the island, and when they finally got to the summit of the hill, they had a good view of the inlet. Their new location allowed them to see without being seen, though it would not protect them from the rain that threatened again. The approaching ship had got considerably closer, and its flag ought to be visible any time.

The wait was nerve-racking, Algy thought as he watched intently. Every once in a while, he stole a glance at von Stalhein and at Biggles. They both had the same expression on their faces of forced calmness, and they both carefully avoided looking at each other. Algy squinted again at the ship and its flag; he thought he saw a hint of red, but he could not be sure and that was not much of an indication in any case. It was another long trying ten minutes before they could make it out for sure.

«Red and white,» Algy said. «I think. Which one is that? I've seen it before... Hold on, that's the Polish flag, right ?»

"The Polish flag has the white stripe on top", von Stalhein retorted with just a hint of disdain for Algy's ignorance. "That one is upside-down."

«It's Indonesian,» Biggles said quietly.

«Well, that's good, isn't it?» Algy exclaimed. «They're not on anyone's side, that I know. If those are Indonesian fishermen they can take us to Jakarta.»

Biggles looked worried. «I don't know,» he said softly.

«It is likely that flag is for show only,» von Stalhein said. «And since this ship is obviously not British, that leaves only two possibilities.»

Algy looked again at the fast approaching ship. It was bulky and low on the water, not at all like a warship; it looked more like some sort of cargo.

«Which is it, then?» he heard Biggles ask. «Your friends or... the other ones you don't want to talk about?»

«I don't know,» von Stalhein admitted. «If they are my friends, I will let you go as I said. If not...» he looked at them and Algy saw fatality in his eyes.

«Let's assume it isn't - let's assume that it's these others about whom you will tell us nothing, plan from there,» Algy tried, not wanting to get bogged down in emotion, though he felt something akin to sympathy for the upright figure next to him.

«You don't want them to find you, we don't want them to find you. If they search the island thoroughly, we'll be trusting to luck to stay undiscovered - as soon as they see those snares they'll know someone is about, to start with.»

Idly he removed his foot from resting on the can and pulled Biggles arm, tone changing as he picked up the tiredness, the illness, still present in his friend. «Down you sit, my eyes are just as sharp as yours, specially at this distance, and you can hear us just as well from down there.»

Biggles tensed, unwilling to admit to feeling somewhat woozy and thankful for the offer, though he sat with little more urging. Von Stalhein crouched down as Algy did, muttering something about not standing out on the skyline.

Thankfully the prevailing wind was working in their favour, causing the tops of bushes to slope downwards below them, hindering somewhat the progress of the vessel and giving them some tightly knotted vegetation to rest their backs against. It also would carry their voices down wind and dutifully they lowered their tones to a more conspiratorial level.

There was a pause as von Stalhein mulled this over. He couldn't tell them anything - he knew they'd go and talk to their own intelligence people as soon as they were home and inferences would be drawn - but they were in this as much as him, now, and he owed them some explanation. Though really there was nothing more to say in background, just to plan.

«That's right, Lacey,» he agreed, referring to their original problem, «We still have a good half an hour before they land, though, and then perhaps another ten minutes before they deploy. Run down and do a more thorough sweep of the stream, if you please, to remove those snares to start with.»

Algy stared at him, «That'll take me at least half an hour just to clean up - there's a good trail of them. I won't be able to run down, do all of that and meet you here. If it's you they want why don't you go down and do it - they'll push up the stream first.»

The German's eyes narrowed. «And leave you two alone to plot your way out of this? Nein! Bigglesworth doesn't know where they are, even if he should be fit enough to go, which leaves you only, Lacey.» Algy frowned at him, over Biggles' head, and opened his mouth, aware that very soon he'd get a dressing down from Biggles about latent anger.

Biggles was one to speak about anger!

«That's a point.» he conceded, «Let's make a compromise.» This time he adressed Biggles, «How far can you walk easily down that hill, d'you think?»

Light grey eyes surveyed his briefly, then glanced down the slope, «How far d'you want me to go?» He countered, a slight smile curving his mouth.

Algy nodded, clasped his compatriot's shoulder, «Very well. I'll hare off down there and you follow at a better pace - I'll meet you on the trail somehow. The only problem is von Stalhein will have to carry all the gear - I can't go toting round gallons of petrol and first aid kits and some old bottles.»

Von Stalhein had forgotten about the beer, though now it seemed as if that's what he'd been waiting for in the way of a bigger breakfast. The rabbit still sat with the meagre pile, useless though it was without a fire.

«Well, he'll have to then. If he runs on us we'll just take our chances.» Biggles glanced at the surly German, who did not look too happy to be talked about as if he were not standing there. «Though I don't think he will.» Algy shook his head and then stopped hurriedly, swallowing.

«If you could get him to gut that rabbit, though not skin it yet, it'll last a little longer.» was all he said, nodding a parting to von Stalhein. «Be good for him, then, Erich. Chin up, old chap.» a swift handshake to Biggles and he prepared to leave.

«Before you go...» Algy had been levering himself but glanced down at that comment, hand resting lightly on Biggles' shoulder.

«Mmhm?»

«If we do get seperated, we'll meet at...»

«That tree about a hundred paces north from the wreck- close to their action but not so close.»

«Good idea.» Biggles smiled at him - not the thin lipped smile which was on his face more often - and petted his hand. «Go on then... take care.»

«Will do - you too.»

Finally Algy was off, running fairly quietly through the trees. Compared to Ginger he was noisy but for a man of his upbringing he was remarkably good. Von Stalhein had to give him that, grudging as it was.

«Once this rabbit entrail has been buried, we shall go,» he announced and Biggles nodded, closing his eyes and leaning back as he settled in for a wait.

* * *

><p>Downhill the going was faster if no easier, slippery ground almost toppling him once or twice. Ruefully Algy reflected that his jacket - newish when put on a few days ago - would be very definitely heading off to the rag bag as soon as he returned. He decided to run the length of the snare line and remove them all on his returning, making the uphill slog seem shorter and hopefully preventing him from being surprised by the invaders.<p>

He was pleased to see there were still bunches of bananas and another coconut that he passed, along with a few other fruits which he decided would be better liberated and feeding them - they might end up living off scrounging for a few more days yet, with likely sources being watched.

The first few traps dismantled and their materials dispersed he wondered what to do with the bird he found in the next. Keep it and carry it around, with no immediate prospect of a fire, or let it go and with it valuable meat?

In the end he twisted it's neck in brief economy of motion, feeling it die immediately and silently, before pocketing that snare's material in case another chance occured to set one out again.

And so it continued - two dozen snares to be checked and dispersed, balancing a fowl and a coconut. He wished he had a basket or a bag to use.


	11. Hide and Seek

**Chapter 11 - Hide and Seek  
><strong>

Slice the middle, turn it inside out, thrust knife edge along side of abdominal muscle, scoop out entrail, check for remainder, slice the last bits free, flick the folds of flesh back together...Rabbit gutted, von Stalhein looked at their gear.

Not much for three men under siege, enough and badly packed for one man to carry alone. He glanced at Biggles, realised he couldn't ask him to carry anything.

Firmly he turned back to the task. Petrol in one hand, clearly, packaged food in pockets, rabbit hanging over the petrol can, perhaps and coconut in other hand? He could drop the coconut and it wouldn't be a problem, while the rabbit wouldn't be better for such tenderisation.

Knees clicking he stood and nudged Bigglesworth with his ankle. «Come on, up you get...» Clearly the man had been merely dozing for he was up instantly, eyes flashing awake, though he took longer to stand than could be liked.

* * *

><p>It had been so warm and peaceful, despite the smell, and Biggles had been imagining the travels he'd like to have still, really seeing something, just him and Algy and...they surely had enough mechanics around the world, enough knowledge between themselves not to need anyone else? They could travel short distances...London to France, France to Italy, Italy to Turkey, Turkey to...Egypt, perhaps, and around the top of Africa before heading back towards India.<p>

Funny, he hadn't been to India for so long, he'd forgotten almost every word he knew so well as a boy.

Hmm. Von Stalhein nudged him and eyes jerked open, making his head complain so he held still before getting up.

«I'm up. Are we off, then?» A silly question, though worth the distraction as he levered himself up, stood for a moment, assessing himself, then took the coconut in his left hand.

«Nonsense,» shaking off von Stalhein's complaints, smiling a little and getting an answering, thankful smile in return.

* * *

><p>«Ahoy the deck!»<p>

«Aye, Lookout?»

«Signs of activity...further East, halfway up island - 6 points off starboard bow and...»

«People?»

«None, sir!» The lookout recognised the steely voice of his captain, «Metal, sir.»

«Crash, perhaps?» the lookout's companion, dutifully searching to port and finding nothing (Algy was working his slow way up under bushes, unseen from the distance) had turned to look, missing the slight rusty glint the petrol tank gave as von stalhein moved from the sun into a curious shadow.

«Perhaps,» the lookout returned, only to be deafened with a, "Well, is it a machine, you lubber-minded fool?»

* * *

><p>Algy paused, trying to judge the distance of the ship, then shrugged and continued, now at the last two snares where he'd had such luck the first day.<p>

Straightening he saw, just coming and far away, two sets of boots, one stumbling a little, the other limping.

They were clearly alone and Algy glanced behind him for a bit, sweeping the ground with a practiced eye.

Confident, he set off towards his companions, a swinging, lengethened stride replacing a headlong rush.

* * *

><p>«Carefully round that rock, Bigglesworth and here...»<p>

Biggles was dutifully careful but after the fifth or sixth time of being treated as fragile he stopped. «Look here, Erich. It's not that I don't appreciate it, but why are you suddenly being so damned careful of me. I'm not likely to break now, you know.»

Was it his imagination or was there a slight flush in those shallow cheeks? «I'm aware of that, Biggleswo...»

«Biggles. You said you would.»

«I'm aware of that. Biggles." Uttering the nickname sounded like a greater effort than it should have been. "However it...» von Stalhein floundered for a moment, «You know that Hebblethwaite can more than look after himself, and yet you were wary to let him near even the planes, that first time you met him...and» He shook his head briefly, «It is harder to say it in English,» he muttered in the end, defensively, which sounded a little ridiculous considering that he could pass convincingly as a British officer whenever he felt like it.

«So sprechen Sie im Deustch.» Biggle suggested, calmly, rather than calling him on the obvious lie.

Von Stalhein took a breath, then another and a few steps, followed by a Biggles who thought he'd gone too far.

* * *

><p>Dammit! He knew Biggles knew German, why had he let that line fall so glibly as it did always from his lips?<p>

He could just keep walking and, eventually, they'd be free from each other...

_You won't, though_

Stupid. He wouldn't, either.

«Very well. Im deutsch.»

_«We were talking last night of wives»_ he began, hesitantly, _«And you pointed out we were both bachelors, you remember?» _He rushed on without waiting for Biggles assent_, «But I beg to differ. You aren't a bachelor in the true sense of the word because you share you life with others. Maybe not a single woman, having your children and knitting you socks, but with a small, close group.»_

_«Ginger and Bertie and Algy?»_ Biggles guessed. _«Bertie knows little about...me. Ginger a little more, I suppose, and he's sharp as tacks, picks up little bits, but...» _he huffed a laugh,_ «he still gives me cufflinks and books for christmas and birthdays - nothing really personal.»_

Von Stalhein nodded. _«As a closer person would. But...»_ how to phrase this next bit? In the end he abandoned what he had thought of this morning and instead took the offer Biggles had, perhaps unwittingly, given him, _«Perhaps no-one gives you better presents, then. Books you really want, your favourite brand of cigarettes, the replacement of the bottle they gave you last time, and the time before that...and more. No-one, you are saying, to give stability and happiness and...make it gemütlich.»_

Biggles frowned, considering. _«No, I don't think so. I think Algy covers that, most of the time.» _There was silence as they made their way further downstream, then von Stalhein asked

_«Most of the time?»_ with the emphasis on most.

Biggles nodded, _«Unless he gets upset with me...»_ and smiled, trying to pass it off as a joke.

Abruptly they were back to English, as von Stalhein confronted Biggles on home turf again, «When he gets upset, your Algy, then things are wrong for a while, aren't they. He wasn't too happy when you were talking to me - and I thought maybe he thinks there is something to be jealous of.»

* * *

><p>The feet had stopped and Algy wondered why, glanced behind again then continued. The threatening rain didn't stave off his pleasure in having the job done, though he would have felt happier had they been in the real middle of summer.<p>

Less water then, though.

Again he wondered what the ship was doing, who it really belonged to and why – why? - did he never seem to be able to just go on a holiday with Biggles, alone, and not crash and be taken prisoner? Were They really that much set against his happiness?

He became aware of talking and hissed at the almost-visible figures ahead, «Shh-hh I can hear you.»

The talking stopped at once, and it was with considerably less noise that the two pair of boots slid down the rest of the slope beside Algy, who was keeping a worried eye on their surroundings.

«We can't remain near the stream,» he declared at once. «It is the first place they will search.»

Von Stalhein nodded glumly, and set down the gear he was carrying in order to fill the half-empty bottles of water, then he stuck them in his belt so his hands would be free.

«I'll help you carry this,» Algy said. «But we must decide where we are going first.»

Von Stalhein hesitated, obviously thinking fast; but the answer came from Biggles.

«While we were flying over the island, before the crash, I think I saw the other side of the mountain. This island must be an extinct volcano, I think, it looked very rocky and rugged. There are chances we'll find a good hiding place over there. And it gets us farther from the inlet, so we'll have more time before these people get near us.»

«But can you walk that far?» Algy looked hard at Biggles; he was better, granted, but still tired and pale, and their recent diet did not help any.

A thin, humourless smile twisted Biggles' lips. «I'll have to, won't I?» he said shortly. «What do you think these people would do to us, if they catch us, Erich?»

«Interrogate us, then kill us,» von Stalhein answered without hesitation.

«We are British subjects!» protested Algy. «Why wouldn't they merely send us back to England? If they catch us, they won't have much to gain by killing us.»

«And nothing to lose either,» said von Stalhein coldly. «You must understand...» he hesitated, unsure how much he could tell them. But then, they would see soon enough who the newcomers were, and they were clever enough to work out the rest of it. «The situation is...»

Before he could continue, he was interrupted by Biggles. «We'd better get going, we have a fair distance to cover, and they'll be on us soon enough. We can talk while walking.»

Algy and von Stalhein shared the equipment between themselves and they started walking; by mutual consent, Biggles ended up walking between them.

«What were you going to say, Erich?» he asked after perhaps ten minutes of walking up the slope to get on the other side.

The German was silent for a little while, as he gathered and ordered his thoughts into coherent sentences. Finally he said, «For obvious reasons, I cannot go into details. Let it just be said that the third party I mentioned is acting clandestinely. They will do all they can to keep their involvement unknown to the rest of the world, and they cannot afford witnesses. If they catch us, no matter what they say, you can be certain they will kill us eventually.»

«And they want the documents you were carrying,» Biggles put in his best guess as a certainty, out of breath and trying to hide it. That slope was damn steep.

Algy remained silent. He recognized Biggles' touch; he would wriggle out of von Stalhein everything the German was willing to say, and perhaps a little more. It was better for Algy not to interfere. It was rather fascinating, he reflected, to watch Biggles and von Stalhein interacting thus. They understood each other on a level Algy could not reach; just as Biggles and Algy completed each other in a way von Stalhein could never grasp.

«I do not see how that is relevant,» von Stalhein said finally, eyes narrowed.

«It is,» Biggles replied calmly, «because as much as I don't want you to keep it, I think I want them to find it even less. How well is it hidden?»

«Well enough,» the German said, scowling. He obviously knew that he was tacitly admitting the truth of Biggles' assertions.

Biggles must have understood it, for he added, as gently as his short breath would allow him, «Really, it has become quite obvious, Erich. As obvious as is the fact that for now, at least, we must work together. How many bullets do you have left?»

Algy would have hold his breath if he had had enough left for that. Von Stalhein's answer would determine whether they could be allies. He would never have thought, only two days ago, that he actually wished this stubborn Hun would accept the offer.

«Two,» murmurred von Stalhein.

«One for each of us,» Biggles remarked with dark humour.

«Really, Biggles,» Algy complained, «do you have to give him such ideas? Don't listen to him, Erich.»

The joke had escaped his lips, just like that, as naturally as if they had been long-time friends instead of bitter enemies. Yet, as they kept climbing, Algy wondered if they were truly still enemies. In just two days, they had seen each other cry, comforted each other, and - as embarrassing as it was - slept huddled together. Algy hoped the story would never reach Ginger and Bertie, or by Jove they would never live it down. Then he thought about von Stalhein and he realized that if the story came to be known, he would not have just gibes to fear, but a firing squad.

Well, he had chosen to work for these people, so he could not really complain... still, the thought made Algy a little uneasy.

By then they had reached the apex of the slope, which was a good thing considering Biggles' ashen complexion and the hissing noise of his breathing. They began going down on the other side, which despite what some may think was not much easier than going up; one had to watch his footing carefully, especially since it had rained recently, and the mud was slippery and treacherous. Naturally, it just had to happen; Biggles's foot slipped, he lost his balance and the next moment he was sliding down the slope at a dangerous speed.

Without even taking a second to think about it, Algy followed, unmindful of the danger he was taking by hurrying so. Of course there was no way he could catch up with Biggles, but he was only seconds behind him, arms waving wildly as he tried to keep his balance. They were down faster than he would have thought possible, and it was with some trepidation that he approached Biggles' now limp body, the worst fears materializing in his mind. He had hardly knelt beside him when Biggles opened his eyes, still pale with the fright he must have had, and smiled wanly at Algy.

«What a ride,» he said, shaking his head.

«Are you all right?» Algy managed to say through the lump in his throat.

Biggles found the strength to cast him an amused look. «Heavens, one would think you were the one to fall and not me. Don't be so pale; I'm perfectly fine. Just got a scare, that's all.»

By then von Stalhein, who had been going at a more reasonable pace than Algy, had caught up with them. Without a word he handed Algy the jerrycan he had dropped in his wild run, then offered his hand to get Biggles to his feet.

«I see you found yourself a handy camouflage, Biggleswo... Biggles,» he remarked. It seemed to demand a conscious effort for him to use the diminutive.

Indeed, Algy noticed, Biggles was now covered in mud dark enough that it would be hard to spot him when night came. «If you're going to suggest we do the same, I veto that idea immediately,» he said. «One of us wet and dirty is more than enough.»

Von Stalhein shrugged. «I was merely pointing out the positive aspects of this little accident.»

«Let's keep going,» Biggles cut them. «We're too exposed here.»

They did, mostly in silence; they were all too tired to speak much, and not in the mood for trivialities. The vegetation grew scarcer and scarcer as they progressed nearer the other side of the extinct volcano, just as the terrain became more rugged. It also became harder to keep going; they were all exhausted and famished, and the declining daylight did not help any.

«We must find a hiding place soon,» Algy said tightly. «Soon it'll be too dark for us to see our own feet, let alone a hideout.»

«But the same goes for the enemy,» Biggles reminded him. «Regardless, you're right. We must find a place quickly.»

The main problem with finding a good hiding place is usually that if it was easy to find, it would not be a good hiding place. In accordance with this logical conclusion, it may have taken Biggles, Algy and von Stalhein a long time still to find one had luck not played its part. They had been getting closer to the sea, close enough to hear the waves crashing on the rocky coast of the island; there was no beach on this side of the mountain. Algy was about to suggest they moved back towards the inland, but before he was able to voice the idea he heard the sound of rocks falling just behind him, then a muffled cry, then nothing.

Spinning on his heels, he saw only Biggles staring at the ground, looking just as astonished as he was. Of von Stalhein, there was no trace.

«Wha...» Algy rubbed his eyes, just about to wonder if he had not gone insane - too much rain will do that to a man - and only belatedly remembered to close his mouth, which had been hanging open.

He took a few steps back to where the German had been standing so he could examine the ground better in the dimming twilight, and suddenly the ground gave way under his feet; he might have fallen into what seemed to be a deep hole, had Biggles not pulled him backwards.

The two British knelt and under their fingers, where they could see only a dark spot, they felt the absence of rock. They had found what seemed to be a fault in the ground, just wide enough for a man to get through. Biggles twisted his neck in an attempt to see inside the rift without falling. Alarmed, Algy put a hand on his shoulder; he really did not need Biggles to fall again and break his neck this time.

«Erich?» Biggles called softly, not daring to raise his voice for obvious reasons. Sound always carries far in the stillness of night, especially near the sea.

No answer came, and Biggles swore quietly.

«I'll go down and see,» Algy said. «You stay here.»

«Wait,» Biggles grabbed his arm. «You don't know how deep it is.»

«I'll know soon enough.»

Algy fumbled around for a small piece of rock. Those were not a scarce commodity in the vicinity, and he found one quickly. Throwing it inside the rift, he waited to see how long it would take before he heard it hit the ground. But instead of the deep sound he expected, he heard a muffled thud, followed by a very nasty curse in German. Algy looked at Biggles sheepishly, although he had a hard time biting back his laughter.

«Not very deep, I reckon,» he said. «Wait here.»

Leaving everything he carried behind, he slid his lithe body into the rift, holding himself steady with his fingertips. He felt under his feet, but there was only nothingness to be found. With a mental shrug, he let go. His fall was almost immediately broken by something soft and fleshy under him, and he heard a painful groan. Feeling around him, Algy soon found out there was enough space for him to move easily, and he stood up away from his improvised cushion.

«Erich?»

«_Nein, der Kaiser, dummkopf_ !» the German answered bitingly. The exclamation was so unlike him that Algy wondered if he had not cracked his thick head. But then, greater men would have been reasonably angry after falling down, being thrown stones at, and jumped on.

«Well,» Algy decreed, «if you're well enough to be ironic I'll take that to mean you're all right.»

«You can help me up, if you are quite done stoning me.»

«Oh, yes, I'm done.» Algy could not keep back a smile as the humour of the situation struck him. Only as he did help von Stalhein up did he realize that, had he wanted to, he would have had a golden opportunity to take the man's gun. But surprising as it may seem, the thought had not even crossed his mind. Well, no use crying over spilt milk.

Inside the cavity where they were, darkness was complete but for the dim, greyish light of the sky above their heads. Biggles' face was a pale spot contrasting with the darker lumps of rock around him. Algy tried to look at von Stalhein to see if really he was unscathed, but he could see little more than a black shape beside him.

«Von Sta... Erich,» he tried. This first name thing was taking some getting used to it on his part also, it seemed. «Nothing broken?» He tried for a casual tone of voice, because concern was too embarrassing to express easily.

There was a short silence, then, «It appears not.» Algy felt him moving slightly. «Although I do seem to be bleeding. But I do not think it is serious. A scratch.»

«Is there enough room for me to come down?» Biggles asked.

«I don't know,» Algy admitted. «Who was carrying the lighter?»

He heard a ruffle of fabric when von Stalhein searched his pockets, and a moment later the flickering light of his gold lighter filled the space of the cavity, casting dancing shadows all around them. It was much bigger than Algy had thought; not wide, but narrow and long, it had the shape of a tunnel, the end of which could not be surmised in the surrounding obscurity.

«What the heck is that?» murmurred Algy.

«I believe it is... how do you call that... a _lavaröhre_,» said von Stalhein.

«A lava tube,» translated Biggles. «That's possible. I'd even say that's likely.»

Algy took note of the word. This little adventure at least had the one advantage of widening the range of his German vocabulary. Turning back towards the entrance, he caught a look at von Stalhein, who looked rather ghastly, his clothes dirty, ruffled and torn, not to mention the blood that covered half his face.

«May I...?» Without waiting for an answer, he came closer to examine the wound which, although it looked rather impressive and had bled profusely as all head wounds do, was little more than a scratch. «You'll be a sore sight until you can wash,» Algy diagnosed, «but apart from that you'll be fine.»

They all were a sore sight to behold, he thought. With their stubble, Biggles covered in dried mud, von Stalhein in blood, and Algy himself was not fit to be seen.

«_Danke, herr Doktor_,» said von Stalhein with some irony, and he clicked his heels. Algy shook his head and looked away. Who would have thought von Stalhein actually had a sense of humour, no matter how twisted it may be?

«All right,» Biggles called from atop the rift, «I'll throw you the equipment, and then I'll get down with you. As a hiding place, this ought to do nicely.»

Getting the equipment down was not very difficult, as they did not have anything that required any delicate handling. Getting Biggles down was another matter, in which for once both Algy and von Stalhein worked together without a gibe or a complaint.

«There must be many more of these around here,» commented Biggles once he was down safely. «No surprise, if this is an extinct volcano. It figures one of us should fall in one of these lava tubes eventually, we've been trudging around the place for hours. I only hope it isn't too visible in plain daylight. In any case, I doubt we'll find anyplace much better to hide, even should we search for a whole decade.»

«I wonder where that goes,» said Algy, who was looking towards the end of the tunnel.

Biggles shrugged. «I don't know, and I don't really care to find out at this moment. I think we all need rest right now, and perhaps a bite to eat. Do you think it is safe to build a fire?» His question was not aimed at anyone specifically, and it was Algy who answered first.

«Safe or not, we must. First because we haven't had much to eat so far and we'll need our strength, and secondly because it gets quite cold during the night.»

«And where do you suggest we find firewood?» That was von Stalhein, who since his fall had been decidedly ironic.

Unfortunately, he was right. The terrain they had crossed to get there was rocky with little vegetation, and none of them was much motivated to go and fetch some wood if they had to walk two miles for it.

«With the gasoline and a piece of fabric, we could make some sort of torch...» said Biggles.

«But we couldn't use it to cook,» Algy pointed out. «There is nothing healthy about gasoline fumes.»

«We could always use it to get warm,» Biggles said firmly. «As for the rabbit and that bird you caught, I suppose we'll just have to eat it raw.»

Algy made a face, but before he could word an objection, Biggles silenced him.

«It's a matter of survival now, so let's not be picky. The other question, I imagine, is what we are going to do about our other problem.»

«We still have not ascertained whether these people are my friends or not,» said von Stalhein curtly. «Thus I believe our priority should be to find out. I can go out and make a reconnaissance...»

«Not now, you don't,» Biggles cut him firmly, and Algy had to marvel again at the magic that meant Erich von Stalhein, a man used to giving orders, would accept Biggles' commands without much in the way of protests. Perhaps that was due to the famed sense of discipline of the German army. «We all need to rest,» Biggles was continuing. «There'll be time tomorrow for that sort of things. What interests me more is what we are going to do if, as it seems now likely, these people are not your friends.»

«And we can talk about that just as well if we're sitting down,» Algy said, and it was not a mere suggestion.

They all sat down, and von Stalhein spoke softly.

«I suppose there are only two possibilities. Either they will find us, or they will not. Either way, there does not seem to be much we can do. Unless we tried to take possession of their ship...»

They exchanged a look. That would be suicidal, and they all knew it.

Biggles leaned back against the almost-smooth wall and frowned, «Clearly we cannot bank on that as an option» he began, «But we do need a way to get off the island without them realising we are here.»

The other two men nodded and seemed inclined to keep listening before Algy butted in, keeping his voice to a low murmer, undetectable ten feet away.

«We need to light something to burn more slowly - seeing each other by a lighter isn't much good.»

Indeed, Erich had been flicking it on and off, adding to the strange flicker all light creates. «If this were one of Ginger's precious adventure stories, some old tree would have taken root and we'd be sorted for ever;» he added, peering round and levering himself into a crouch. «And just in case it is, and we didn't realise it - Erich, you hare off that way and I'll go back up.» He didn't hold out much hope though, given the tough tundra plants they'd been wandering through.

It wasn't until he was approaching a bend that von Stalhein realised what he was doing - following the orders of a British subject. Granted, La- Algy (did he really have to use the man's first name ?) had been in the air force once upon a time but he had never outranked even Bigglesworth, let alone von Stalhein himself. Turning, minding his head (and adopting a scurrying walk which had first served the Welsh miners and since no-one else, due to its strange look) he made his way back up the tunnel, running a hopeful hand along the ceiling but not coming up with anything beyond a torn nail.

* * *

><p>It was dark and still and while Biggles lay there feeling, it must be admitted, a little sorry for himself, he wondered how they were going to get out of this place. Currently they were reacting, not acting, a state of affairs he had always been wary of.<p>

Some noises coming from his right suggested Algy, left to wander without a light, had struck something and he called out very quietly, «You alright, Algy?» angling his head to try and direct it the appropriate distance. A very muffled reply, «Fine!» sounded more miffed than Biggles expected from the usually sunny Algy, but he decided a lack of food was probably wearing them all down.


	12. Through the Dark

**Chapter 12 - Through the Dark  
><strong>

Wandering around in the dark was a stupid idea, Algy told himself, sweeping his hands around himself and hunting, futilely, for burnable matter. Dejected he turned too quickly, staggering against the wall and reassuring Biggles he was fine - not a total lie - as he staggered back up the tunnel again. As expected, von Stalhein had not found anything either.

«Coconut husks burn well, but apart from that all we have are the shirts on our backs,» Biggles commented into the dark, judging the seating of the other two by their breathing and shifting alone.

Algy nodded before remembering no-one could see him. «Erich, if I give you this fabric and you imbibe it with some gas, we'll have enough light to husk the coconut as well. We don't want to make much smoke - it'll at the very least smell out the tunnel, but that alone won't give us away.»

As if he didn't know that! - Algy guessed von Stalhein's sneering thought more than he could really deduce it, but it hardly matter so long as his instructions were followed. Fire lit, still-warm shirt taking to the flames easily, von Stalhein allowed Algy to start husking the coconut as again they settled down to talking.

«Let us assume they'll be searching in shifts, spreading out over the island. We really should keep moving and try and get in behind them. We're far enough away from any refuge that appropriating a lifeboat of theirs won't be of any good to us - they'll hunt us down before anyone else can,» von Stalhein summed up the situation succintly and Algy morosely speared meat over the flames and attempted to at least stop it from looking so red. Suddenly he looked up, the light making him look somewhat mad, «We could hand ourselves over and tell them we need to speak to someone on shore - then escape from that.» he suggested.

Biggles stared at him as if they hadn't met before and von Stalhein hissed, «are you mad?»

«Clearly, the lack of food has affected your ability to think,» said von Stalhein, back to his old sneering self.

Well, not quite. Two days ago he would have added something about Algy's inability to think in the best of cases. Nevertheless, Algy refused to even acknowledge the less than flattering observation, and answered with a dazzling smile - a response he was sure would annoy the German far more than any biting retort.

«At least that way we'd know _who_ they are, and - well, they can't shoot us so long as they don't have what they want.»

«They can shoot two of us, which is enough,» said von Stalhein. Algy had to smile at this manner of expressing concern for their health without appearing to, but when von Stalhein scowled at him he quickly bit back his grin.

«We could wait here,» Biggles interrupted the forming argument. «They will go past us without finding this hole, hopefully, and then we can double back. They won't find us, will think we're not there, and will go away.»

A short silence followed while they considered the value of that proposal. «That's unlikely,» Algy finally said. «They'll know we're here. Or have you forgotten the wreck of the plane?»

Biggles bit his lips as they shared a look. Indeed, they had forgotten about the wreck for a while, but now it became clear that it was futile to try and hide their presence on the island.

«Damn it!» Biggles swore, uncharacteristically. «I should have thought of that.»

«We're all tired,» Algy said gently, «and hungry and whatever else. In any case, we must...»

He broke off suddenly, eyes wide, holding his breath. This could not be... or could it?

«What...» began Biggles, but Algy cut him with an imperious wave of his hand.

«Can you hear that?»

«Hear wha... oh.» Biggles fell silent as, obviously, he too heard a familiar, unmistakable hum.

The hum of a plane. One they knew too well not to recognize it, even distorted as it was by the distance and the thickness of the ground above their heads.

«Ginger and Bertie,» Algy whispered, though he hardly dared believe it. «Looking for us.»

«That seems most likely,» agreed Biggles. The look of weary tiredness had left his face now, replaced by the energy this new hope had given him, though a shade of concern still darkened his eyes. «But what of the others?» There was no need to specify which others that was.

«In the dark, it is unlikely Lissie and Hebblethwaite would have noticed their ship,» said von Stalhein softly. As always, he stumbled ever so slightly over Ginger's last name. Neither Algy nor Biggles suggested he use Ginger's first name; there was a limit to everything.

Algy's mind raced over the implications. If Ginger and Bertie landed... but would they land? «We must signal to them,» he said feverishly. «Light a fire.»

«But we can't.» Biggles' jaw had set at a hard angle. «Ginger and Bertie would not be the only ones noticing us if we did.»

Von Stalhein shifted a little near the fire. «They might have seen the wreck - if there was enough light when they arrived.» He looked thoughtful for a moment. «This might be enough to scare off our pursuers. As I said, they would not like their involvement to be known publicly, or even secretly, for that matter - the political consequences would be... complicated.»

«Or they might try to kill Bertie and Ginger to ensure there are no witnesses,» Biggles said dully. Von Stalhein had a slight, eloquent shrug; it was also a possibility.

They listened to the plane, tense, anxious to hear whether it was going to land.

* * *

><p>Tense, fifteen heads turned towards the sound of an aircraft, following it as best they could through the distortion of poor visibility and tree-cover.<p>

«Whose is it?» questioned the second in command, surly at having to ask, peering at the landing party.

«We don't know, sir.» Fourteen blank faces peered this way and that, trying to get a good look at the plane while trying to keep their head in sight as well.

«On deck! Enemy aircraft, one, origin unknown.» Finally the lookout got a placing of the noise he'd been hearing and relayed it to the captain, who promptly regaled the skeleton crew with orders and reprimands.

* * *

><p>«What's that over there - behind the second island, to the west?» Ginger pointed across Bertie, thankful for the crew intercom they were using, allowing for a more human discussion.<p>

«I see! Looks like a blasted ship, and not one of our cruisers, either. Might be a blasted Jerry.» Bertie obligingly turned the plane three points towards the island, circling high through the sunset.

Ginger regarded the ship and surrounding island carefully. «It's not one I recognise;» he admitted. «I'm thinking it's out of the East...hang on.» His voice took on an urgency which Bertie took as his cue to await further instructions, glancing down at the expanse of darkening sea - the sun had almost finished setting on the island. «There's something near the ship, along the stream...I think it's a plane.» Ginger peered at it closely as they approached, feeling a sinking in his heart.

* * *

><p>«They're coming closer,» von Stalhein muttered, head swivelling as he tracked the sound.<p>

Biggles opened one eye, glancing at the German, «Lower and slower - they've spotted both of them.»

There was a longer silence inside their tunnel as Algy and Biggles projected what must be going on in the plane. Silently, Algy unskewered the meat and tapped Biggles' hand, pressing the half-cooked rabbit into his friend's hand before halving the remaining meat with von Stalhein and tossing the skewer at his feet, in case it was needed again, in case they had a chance to cook the rest of the bird.

A brief smile to Algy, his mouth full of meat, was all Biggles used to show his thanks, but Algy was receiving of that and added his own progress report to the plane they could still hear.

«They're doing runs, up and down the stream - trying to find who's on board, where the others are and possibly looking for us.» The engines blipped twice then continued droning away. Algy glanced at von Stalhein but he just looked puzzled, even as Algy wriggled away and peered up through the hole, keeping his head low.

«It's totally dark down here - I'd say they can't see much from up top either.»

The engines cutting out simultaneously were not something which happened accidentally, being instead a simple code first used by the two land-bound men in 1916, deepest Egypt.

Von Stalhein had been there too, but it was unlikely he remembered, having been otherwise engaged at the time.

* * *

><p>«You managed to get it somewhere nearby?» Bertie glanced at Ginger, wrestling his window shut and peering below him.<p>

Windswept, Ginger sat back and grinned, «Did I ever! 200 feet from the crash, I reckon. That's probably where they're going to aim for at some stage... unless they've already been there... Did you work out who those others were? That's surely not one of ours.»

Bertie sighed at the American drawl and made with all due haste for more fuel, planning on carrying more reserves for a return trip, ready for pick up. Provided there was no overt enemy action.

* * *

><p>«British plane.» One of the followers sidled along to the second in command and muttered in his ear. Suddenly, as if that quiet word was enough to alert everyone, fifteen pairs of feet pounded along the rough tracks towards the boat, the second in command pulling ahead to run up to the captain, sketchily salute and pass on the information.<p>

* * *

><p>Rumbling spread through the night air towards them and all three tensed, Algy sinking and sliding back to his seat. «Either we're going to be burned alive or we're about to be left alone on the island,» Biggles commented dryly, licking the juices from his chin and wiping the rest off with the back of his hand.<p>

«Or we're going to be discovered,» muttered von Stalhein, face suddenly paler than before. Perhaps he didn't like heat, thought Algy.

The rumbling grew no louder, settling into a steady thumping sound, somewhat like a helicopter.

«Boat's firing up,» Algy surmised.

«Either they're leaving or they're coming around here,» von Stalhein returned shortly.

Algy frowned slightly. «They can't know we're here. Why would they go round ? It would be a lot simpler for them to keep searching the island.»

«Perhaps they've been scared away by the plane,» ventured Biggles. «Or they could be trying to find a place to hide so they won't be spotted too easily if the plane comes back, or if someone else shows up, for that matter. We ought to make sure of that.» He was thoughtful for a minute, before he continued. «And we also need to retrieve that message Bertie and Ginger probably dropped for us.»

Algy could not help but stare at Biggles. Why did he reveal that to von Stalhein? Algy had been hoping they could find the message without the German knowing. Any advantage, as meagre as it was, was not to be disdained. However, he trusted Biggles' judgment, and certainly he must have a good reason for telling von Stalhein.

«Message?» the German allowed a small frown to crease his forehead. «What makes you think they would have dropped a message?»

«The engines cutting out,» Biggles informed him, «are a code we've used before.»

«You don't say.»

«The problem is,» observed Algy, «we don't know where they may have dropped it. They couldn't have possibly known where we were hiding here, so it won't be in the vicinity.»

«Let's be logical about this,» Biggles said. He munched on the meat he still held in his hand before he went on. «If they signalled to us, they must have a good reason to believe that we're here. Perhaps they've seen the wreck after all. And if they've dropped something, it must have been somewhere we can find easily. I think they must have dropped it near the wreck. We would know where it is, obviously, and they might have thought we'd go back there in any case to retrieve some equipment. They couldn't have known von Stalhein's already been there.»

A silence followed.

«There are so many details you overlooked in your assumptions that I shall not bother to list them all,» von Stalhein finally said. «Assuming you have guessed right, as you have an uncanny ability to, then what ?»

«One of us still needs to keep an eye on our 'friends', out there,» Algy reminded them.

«I know,» said Biggles. He sounded confident, even though he had to face two pairs of hard eyes set on him. «Here is my suggestion. Algy, you will go and see what our friends are up to. Meanwhile, Erich and I will get back to the wreck and look for that message. That ought to satisfy every one, I think.»

«It's a long walk,» Algy protested hesitantly. «Wouldn't it be better for me to go back to the wreck?»

It was Biggles' turn to look hard at him. «I'm not made of glass,» he said shortly. Then, more gently, «We're all tired, in any case, but there's nothing to it. Good thing we had some sleep yesterday. Anyway, if I am going to collapse, I'd rather not be on my own when that happens, and I don't think Erich wants to let the two of us out of his sight.» The last words were said jokingly, but held a kernel of truth.

«All right,» Algy said slowly. He still did not like it, but he had nothing better to suggest. If Biggles said he was strong enough to make it, then that was the end of the matter.

«Is it settled, or do I have a say in the matter?» asked von Stalhein, unveiling once again a sarcastic streak that had been until then well hidden.

But Biggles simply shrugged. «Do you have a better idea? If so, I'll be more than happy to hear it out.»

«No,» said von Stalhein after a brief silence. «We shall do as you say.»

Turning away, he examined the entrance of their hideout. It had been easy enough to get down; climbing out might be another matter.

«I'll give you a leg up,» Algy suggested, «then Biggles, and the two of you can help me up.»

Von Stalhein gave a curt nod, and with Algy's help it was not long before he was on his way. Algy and Biggles could hear the muffled sound of his boots scraping on the rocks, while occasionally small pebbles detached themselves from the wall.

Algy took this chance at privacy to whisper a question to his friend. «Biggles, why did you tell him about the message?»

«We could not delay, and there is no way we could have retrieved it without him knowing something was going on,» Biggles answered quietly. «The wreck is too far for one of us to go without him noticing.»

«But he would not have known what we were up to.»

Biggles shook slowly his head. Although he claimed to be fine, he was still uncommonly pale. «You don't understand the man as I do, Algy. We're in this together, and so long as we play it fair he will be correct with us. To an extent. But if he suspects us of trying a dirty trick on him... he won't take it.»

«He wouldn't shoot us,» Algy murmured, and he wondered why he was so sure of it.

«No, but he would stop trusting us altogether, which would make it impossible for us to work together. And we'll need each other before this is all over, I can tell.» Biggles gave Algy a quick smile. «Besides...»

But he was not able to finish, as von Stalhein had finished his ascent and called to them softly. Algy gave Biggles a leg up, and von Stalhein caught his arm so he was pulled up without too many difficulties, though he did scrape his knee nastily on the porous rocks.

After that it was Algy's turn, and he had a little more trouble as there was no one to help him on the first six feet, the hardest part of the climb. After falling back once, however, he managed it and he too found himself outside again. It was not before he took a deep breath that he realized how much the hole where they had been hidden was airless. The sea breeze, smelling of salt and seaweed, was like a friendly caress on his face.

«All right,» Biggles said. «Let's go. Algy, I think we won't be back before at least two hours, probably more. The best is for you to wait for us here once you've spotted the ship and seen what it's doing. I can't surmise how much time we may need, so there's no need for you to worry if we're not back in a while.»

«What should I do if you don't get back at all?» Algy asked, though he knew Biggles would not like the question.

«That'll be up to you.»

Algy rolled his eyes, though he knew Biggles could not see him in the darkness. «Wonderful.»

He heard, more than he saw the smile in Biggles' voice. «I trust your judgment.»

«If you are quite done with these mushy goodbyes, perhaps we can be on our way,» von Stalhein cut in impatiently.

«Coming, Erich.» Biggles was laughing quietly, rather than be upset by the biting comment, which Algy guessed would irritate von Stalhein more than if he had got angry.

He watched the two of them leave. The night was so deep that within only a few yards, he could not see them any longer, although he still heard their boots scraping on the rocky terrain. Determinedly, he turned away towards the coast, where he was bound, and he began to walk carefully, mindful not to fall in another hole or to twist his ankle. As a result, he progressed rather slowly, following the sound of waves crashing on the reefs to find his bearings. Regularly, he scrutinized the horizon, searching for a light of some sort. He could still hear the engines of the ship, a soft hum that carried far on the sea but was too diffused for him to tell wherefrom it came.

Algy was beginning to despair when he caught something at the corner of his eye. He stared at it for a long moment, to be sure he was not mistaken, that it was not just a reflection on the waves; but no, the small light was moving. It had to be the ship... the question was, was it just going round the island so it could leave, or was it looking for a new mooring?

There was only one way to get an answer to that question. Algy squatted carefully, trying to find a comfortable position, and prepared himself for a long watch.

* * *

><p>Exhaustion made von Stalhein's eyelids feel like lead. Once or twice, he almost stumbled because he had nearly fallen asleep, and even now his mind felt sluggish; he was discovering, to his cost, that the few hours of slumber he had caught the past night did not make up for a sleepless night and almost three days of difficult survival. Perhaps he was just getting old. Clenching his jaws, he focused on Bigglesworth's dark shape beside him.<p>

«I hope we won't get lost,» his companion said. «Nothing's the same, in the dark.»

Von Stalhein gave a curt grunt in answer. His fingers closed around the small pillbox still in his pocket. He hated to rely on that sort of thing, but the situation called for drastic measures. Perhaps he could keep stumbling for a while like this, but he could not think straight, and he would need to. As discreetly and noiselessly as he could manage, all the while he kept walking, he transferred one of the pills in his hand, and surreptitiously brought it to his mouth. It would take perhaps fifteen minutes for it to take effect.

«Is everything all right?»

Von Stalhein bit back an urge to tell Bigglesworth to mind his own business. It was irritating to have to suffer the man's compassion - and yet, at the same time, it was oddly reassuring. So many times, Erich had regretted not to have such a man as Bigglesworth at his side - and now, in a most queer situation, they ended up working together. How regrettable, that it should be under such circumstances. Their flimsy alliance was both unnatural, and at the same time bound to happen; perhaps they were too similar; perhaps they would just have to clash, again and again, until one of them did not get up again. How often von Stalhein had relished the idea of Bigglesworth's death in his imagination... and now that it had a very real chance of happening, he found that he did not truly desire it. Bigglesworth had proven too worthy an opponent in the past; his death now would only consecrate von Stalhein's defeat.

«Yes,» he said, before Bigglesworth had time to repeat the question.

He focused back on the path in front of them, not only because getting lost was a real danger, but also because he was still too tired to be willing to debate inwardly about a feeling he was not sure he would ever understand. It was hardly the time and the place, in any case.

«Presumably, the others are all on the ship,» said Bigglesworth softly, «but we cannot rely on it. Better be silent from now on.»

That suited von Stalhein fine. «Very well.»

They had been climbing steadily for the past ten minutes, on what von Stalhein hoped to be the slope they had crossed the previous afternoon. Under their feet, rocks had left place to a squishy sort of mud, that smelt of pumice, and soon enough they found themselves again in the forest. And then for once, luck, that fickle mistress, deigned favour them. The clouds had thinned a little and they let a shred of moonlight down. That did not give a lot of light, but enough for the eyes of two men accustomed to the darkness. Without that, they might have wandered for a good while without finding their way.

«Where to?» whispered Biggles. Of course, he had not been able to recce the terrain as well as von Stalhein and Algy, having been confined most of the time to the cave.

Von Stalhein paused a moment to gather his memories. The stream was in front of them - he could hear it - so the cave would be on their right, and the wreck to the left, closer to the beach. He led Bigglesworth along the way, mindful of his step on the wet ground, and they kept walking for some time. Von Stalhein had thought they were quite near, but it was still hard to tell where exactly. They had been wandering for perhaps a half hour, and von Stalhein was about to admit they were lost, when he almost stumbled over a piece of torn metal. A piece of the plane's wing.

«Here we are,» Biggles said. He let out a low whistle when he distinguished the broken shape of the plane. «I had not realized we had taken such a nasty bump,» he admitted quietly. «We were lucky to escape mostly unscathed.»

«Finding a message in the vicinity without light will be almost impossible.»

«Perhaps not. Bertie and Ginger will have thought of that. I think they made sure we'd notice it easily. Look, Erich, why don't we scout the area separately? We'll be able to cover more ground more quickly.»

The casual tone in which the suggestion had been made immediately roused von Stalhein's suspicion, but he had to admit the validity of the remark. There was too much ground to cover, and it would not be prudent to be still there at dawn in case the ship came back. They had to split up if they were to have any chance of finding the message. And what could Bigglesworth do on his own, still weak?

«Very well,» he said, though he wondered if he was not going to regret it.

But whatever happened, he still had the gun.

* * *

><p>Biggles too felt the strain of this little night stroll. He was not sleepy, for he had had more sleep than von Stalhein and Algy put together, but he did feel the physical weariness. He pushed the feeling aside, determined to do what he had set out to do.<p>

Perhaps forty feet behind him, he heard von Stalhein walking up and down, covering his area methodically. Biggles did not bother to be so formal; but then, he had a rough idea of what he was looking for, contrary to von Stalhein. Bertie and Ginger would certainly have tied the message to a piece of fabric, preferably white so it would stand out, and big enough to be easily noticed. With that idea in mind, Biggles checked not only the ground but also the trees, conscious that the package may have clung to a branch. Not too high, if that was the case, he hoped.

He had been looking for perhaps twenty minutes, but did not let himself be discouraged and kept searching stubbornly. He had all the trouble in the world not to let out a cry of surprise and satisfaction when it finally caught his attention; a long strip of white fabric, as he had surmised, hanging from a branch. He was just tall enough to catch it without having to climb up the tree, and, sparing a glance across his shoulder to make sure von Stalhein was busy and not looking his way, he brought the package down.

It was heavier than he had expected it to be, and bigger as well. The fabric was tied to a box; to the box, a message was bound. Biggles was tempted to swear when he realized that it was too dark for him to read the message. He would have to call von Stalhein, who had the lighter. But he could at least examine the contents of the box before he did so. There may be an item or two he would not want the German to see.


	13. Nocturnal Stroll

**Chapter 13 - Nocturnal Stroll  
><strong>

* * *

><p>The engines' throb was clearly carried across the still night air. The days of rain which had plagued them had cleared the sky from its humidity and clouds were now small and far apart. There'd be stars out later, Algy thought, as he fought the somnolent effect of the ship. It was still moving, edging out around the point he was crouching behind, and he let his eyes wonder around, probing what he could of the blackness. His mind, idle, drifted up and over the hill, worrying about Biggles. He knew that the man could take care of himself, of course, and that von Stalhein killing him was about as likely as him killing himself, but the chances of an accident occuring were high and he'd be much happier had he been with them.<p>

Shaken out of an almost doze by the gleaming of a star, he peered out. The engines were constant - it seemed that for now, at least, the ship was edging away from land.

* * *

><p>Biggles felt into the box carefully, his head half turned away in the direction of von Stalhein, half glad for the darkness which prevented him from seeing how close the German was. His fingers touched several things - metal, cloth and paper. As quietly as he could he lifted up the first object he could grasp, holding it near his eyes and running one hand along it as he did so. Smiling, he slipped the pistol into his waistband and again dipped his hands in, wanting to remove the clips that would surely be in the box as well, before they gave away the presence of the gun to Erich. He found three and pocketed them before running his hands over other things- the fabric he wasn't sure about, though he had a hope it was food.<p>

Pausing, he listened for von Stalhein, before venturing to raise his voice enough to cause his companion to arrive. «Hi! Erich! I've found it...» He kept searching as he heard the careful steps head towards him, fingers clinging to what felt suspiciously like wire or rope, though he couldn't think what for.

«I'll refrain from commenting on your luck again, Biggleswo-Biggles.» Von Stalhein's dry tone suggested he found the whole thing a little boring, if anything.

Biggles smiled to himself, keeping his voice level, «As you say, there's a lot of luck involved. May I have the use of your lighter to read the note?» In putting out his hand his fingers brushed von Stalhein's sleeve and the German's breath hitched, just enough so Biggles couldn't be sure if it had happened or not.

«I have your word that it will return to me when you have finished?» Nevertheless, without waiting for his answer, the lighter was pressed into Biggles' hand.

«I don't suppose there's any lighter fuel in here.» Biggles muttered sorrowfully, flicking the lighter twice before it worked and he could read the note.

* * *

><p>Algy fixed his eyes to a point just off the ship, knowing from long experience that small dim lights are easier to see when not being stared at but rather through. He decided it was still on course and listened above the thrum of engines and behind him, hoping to be able to tell if there were any returning footsteps. He'd learnt a long time ago that there was no use complaining about things like hunger and fatigue, so he determinedly put them to one side of his mind and ignored them as best he could.<p>

For a form of diversion he tried to work out how many days he'd been away now and how many more it could be until he'd be sleeping in his own bed again in London, or indeed any decent bed in Europe. He'd got to ten days to get back when he switched, dejectedly, to working out how much sleep they'd had and how much longer they could go on like this. Not above three days, he knew from bitter experience. He was pleased there were two of them here, especially pleased it was Biggles he was with.

* * *

><p>Biggles perused the note quickly and put it in his pocket, letting the flame go out as he did so. Carefully he closed the lid of the box again, bundling the fabric inside as he did so.<p>

«I'm sure you understand I couldn't let you read it before Algy, given it's addressed to him and me and not to you at all.» He smiled, correctly interpreting the stony silence next to him.

Von Stalhein may have nodded, certainly there was a light movement nearby, and Biggles stepped away a little, almost falling and flinging out an arm in a desperate attempt to right his balance. The next thing he knew, he was flat on his back with some irate German being hissed into his ear.

He'd learnt and resigned himself a long time ago that there were some people who didn't realise there was little to be gained by ranting and cursing, so he calmly reviewed himself for further injury as he waited. Having reached the end of his personal inventory, he sharply tapped Erich on the shoulder.

«Alright, you've made your point. I hardly intended to pull you down, and I certainly had no wish to be so foolish as to fall over nothing. Now, let me up, if you will.»

Stunned, von Stalhein fell into silence for a moment before standing with bad grace, waiting impatiently for Biggles to lever himself up as well. The whole scene, for reasons he couldn't fathom, left the German feeling somewhat shaken.

He shouldn't have fallen over, normally having the athletic reactions of a cat, reactions which remained steady throughout his life. His sleep-deprivation should have had less bearing on him than it did, and his tirade was certainly uncalled for.

Miffed, Biggles dusted off a jacket which could ill- afford any more dusting, before turning to his companion. «Could I trouble you to carry the box?»

There was a pause, before von Stalhein stepped forwards and grasped it, wondering at the same time what it was about Biggles which made him happy to trundle around after him. «Shall we head back then?» Clearly he was trying to puzzle out what was in the letter, and just as clearly Biggles wasn't going to tell him.

«Yes. I want to talk to Algy and think things through with him. And we should find out what the ship is doing.» Biggles' decision was final and von Stalhein set himself to another tedious trek along discernable paths - at least the stars were coming out.

* * *

><p>He couldn't see the light now unless he squinted very hard at the far horizon and closed his eyes to a point he normally adopted during long calculus lessons (or, conversely, navigational ones. He knew how to fly and where to go and had long ago worked out that intuition did as much as a complicated route full of stop overs and check points). After a few minutes like that Algy had to stop for fear of falling sleep. After another hour, he realised he could hear steady movement and, occasionally, something which sounded like voices.<p>

He waited a little longer and decided they were human and silently rose to scout his way back towards them, hoping they were belonging to one Englishman and one German.

Close enough to hear individual footsteps now - a slight hesitation in the heavier ones suggesting they'd found the box and von Stalhein was carrying it- Algy paused to wait for them to speak again, the light not falling well enough to let him squint and make out more than two pale blurs.

«I cannot make out any lights, which suggests the interlopers have departed.» A cultured, accented voice which Algy knew at once, followed by one he heard more often than his own.

«If they'd landed, Algy would have let us know, you needn't worry, von Stalhein.»

Algy stood at that moment and cleared his throat. «You found it then?»

Neither of the two newcomers had noticed Algy before then, obviously, as they both jumped slightly in an unnervingly similar way.

«Oh, yes,» Biggles answered when he had recovered. «We found it all right. But we can discuss that later. What are our friends up to?»

Algy shrugged, though he knew the move would not carry as much meaning as in plain daylight. «They seem to be leaving. For now. Perhaps they've just gone to get some reinforcements.»

He looked mechanically back at the sea, where the horizon was still empty under his gaze.

«Apparently, they don't want to be seen. If they're as shy as you say, Erich, the arrival of Ginger and Bertie tonight must have given them a heart attack.» Biggles' voice held more than a tinge of irony. «That being said, I have a hard time believing they'd give up on their mission so easily.»

«So,» broke Algy impatiently, «what does the message say?»

«Let's have some light then,» said Biggles. «But better to do that behind that lump of rock. The wind is chilly and would put out the flame anyway.»

They did as Biggles suggested and huddled together behind the rock. It struck Algy how naturally they accepted the forced closeness, now, when only a day before they were desperately trying not to fall asleep so they could keep a watchful eye on each other.

Von Stalhein produced the lighter and in the circle of flickering light, Biggles unfolded the message. Algy had to squint to read it, both because of the weak light and because the message had been hurriedly scrawled in a plane that was probably being shot at. Ginger's writing was hardly legible in the best of cases, but he had outdone himself this time.

«Algy, Biggles, hope... you're safe... Im...possible... to... land...» he deciphered slowly. «Will be back ASAP. It makes... no, it might... take a day or two. Signal to us if possible. Go... gosh like?» Puzzled, Algy rubbed his brow.

«Good luck,» translated Biggles.

So Bertie and Ginger would be back. Algy had never doubted it, but he regretted that von Stalhein now knew about it. He sneaked a look at the German, but if he tried anything, it would not be now. For the time being, Ginger and Bertie were away, and their common enemies were not far yet; their uneasy truce would continue a little longer, if Algy's analysis was correct. And indeed, von Stalhein was motionless, apparently not about to attack the two Englishmen any time soon.

«Well, that's it,» Algy concluded. «What should we do now?» They would all have to be patient - though as far as he was concerned, he felt he was reaching the limit of his own equanimity.

«I think...» Biggles began, but before he had time to continue, the flame of the lighter shivered and flickered out.

«Suffering cats, we needed that!» swore Algy. He waited for a few seconds, but von Stalhein made no move to ignite the lighter again. «Why don't you...» he began.

«There is almost no petrol left, I expect,» von Stalhein cut him. «We would be wise to use it only in case of emergency from now on.»

«Of course,» Algy agreed glumly. He tried hard not to let his frustration show. He knew it was no one's fault - well, not directly in any case - but that did not make the situation any more pleasant. The night was not warm, even disregarding the chilly wind Biggles had commented on earlier, and now they were stuck in the dark. That was not the favoured way in which he would spend his holiday.

«What were you saying, Biggles?»

«I was about to suggest we had something to eat. I think Ginger packed some food with the note.»

«At least one piece of good news, then.» Indeed, that was an unexpected surprise. Trust Bertie and Ginger to think of the essentials. Too bad they had not thought to pack a gun too. Or... had they? Algy tried to sneak a glance at Biggles, but he could only make out a dark figure beside him. Well, he could not ask outright, so that would have to wait until the two of them had an occasion to share a word in private.

«Just give me a moment to get it. Erich, give me the box, will you?»

The box was pushed towards Biggles without hesitation or question. Algy wondered at that sudden show of trust, then reflected that von Stalhein had probably already discreetly inspected the contents of the box, and was satisfied there was nothing of interest there besides the food. There was a ruffle of fabric as Biggles unpacked their dinner. Algy tried to guess by ear what it could be, but was to be disappointed for he could hear nothing at all that would give him the slightest clue.

«Sandwiches,» announced Biggles. «Probably the only thing they had close at hand. Well, I won't complain.»

«How many?» Algy's stomach rumbled at the thought of food that would not have to be skinned, peeled or sliced, food that would not be undercooked, that would not smell of smoke and taste of ashes. It had only been three days, but it felt like much, much longer.

«Four, as much as I can tell. Here.»

A sandwich was pushed in Algy's hands, another one offered to von Stalhein, and it was not ten seconds before they were all gulfing it down voraciously.

Chicken and tomato, Algy thought, although he hardly took the time to actually taste the food. It was probably a blessing in disguise that the light had gone out, for their table manners left much to be desired. Not that any of them cared in the least at that moment; Algy only felt a lingering regret when the last bite was swallowed that there was not more.

«I also saw some chocolate bars in the package, I think.» Biggles spoke first after they were done. «But I suggest we keep those, and the last sandwich for tomorrow.»

«I suppose it's wiser,» Algy said, not managing to entirely hide the wistfulness in his voice. Food used to be such a trivial thing. It became important only when it was lacking.

Now that his hunger was sated - his stomach by no means full, but no longer uncomfortably empty - he discovered that he was deadly tired. He had a hard time focusing on anything, his eyelids seemed to droop of their own free will, and his head rocked down and back up every few minutes.

«I think we all need to get some rest,» Biggles suggested as no one appeared willing to take the initiative. His own weariness was discernible in his tired voice, and also in the way his shoulders were hunched beside Algy's. «I suggest we go back to that rift where we left our equipment and have some sleep while we can. There's nothing more we can do tonight.»

They all agreed, and made a collective effort to find their way back to the rift discovered by von Stalhein. It was not as easy as any of them had foreseen, especially in the dark, since they had not thought to mark the emplacement, but they made it in the end. At Biggles' insistance, von Stalhein agreed to go down first, and the short time during which he climbed down allowed the two Englishmen some privacy.

«Biggles, was there anything more in the box?» Algy kept his voice down to a low whisper, hardly loud enough for even Biggles to hear.

Biggles' reply was short and to the point. «A gun. Ammunition.»

Algy had hoped as much, and he felt a grin pull the corners of his mouth. They now had the upper hand... but the brief moment of elation soon gave way to concern. Von Stalhein still had his gun, and while two bullets were not much, they were enough to hit two targets if one was a good shot - which von Stalhein definitely was. True, the British outnumbered him, were better armed, and would have the advantage of surprise when von Stalhein found out about the gun, but... Algy still felt a twinge of uneasiness in his stomach. Worse, he could not think of what caused it. Well, he was tired, as they all were, and nothing would be solved for the time being. Everything would look better in the morning.

Von Stalhein called softly to them that he was down and ready to assist Biggles in his descent. A moment later, they were all together back in the tunnel. There was no arguing when they lay together - now that they no longer had even the luxury of a fire, it was the only way to keep warm. Algy still noticed that von Stalhein was ready to sleep with his hand on the handle of his gun, and he knew it because the German's elbow dug in his ribs and the stubborn man refused to move it. Eventually, they found a comfortable position, though Algy could not help but wonder if von Stalhein had been ready to fight them... or if he feared those other foreigners may come back.

* * *

><p>The last few hours had not been entirely satisfactory, as far as von Stalhein was concerned. First, there was the matter of that package, thrown to Bigglesworth by his friends. The box had been open when Bigglesworth had called him, and Erich could not keep back a nagging suspicion that there might have been more in there than what he had been shown. His subsequent clumsiness, when Bigglesworth had fallen and taken them both down, was another problem. It would probably be unwise to take any more of the pills. It was not definite they were to blame, but... just in case. They should no longer be necessary, either way.<p>

But then, there was the problem of Lissie and Hebblethwaite's imminent return. What would he do - what _could_ he do when that happened? Short of shooting Bigglesworth in cold blood... and he doubted he could bring himself to that. And the Englishman, with his arrogant compassionate ways, certainly was aware of that. He had shown often enough that he felt the same reluctance. Then again, Bigglesworth would most likely not leave until he had found the documents, or was satisfied they had been destroyed. Which meant, when Lissie and Hebblethwaite returned, the British would no longer share a common goal with von Stalhein. When survival was no longer an issue, their truce would be over in a heartbeat.

That left him few options. If he was lucky, his friends would show up before then. If not... he would have to act the moment Lissie and Hebblethwaite's plane was in sight. Taking Bigglesworth and Lacey as prisonners again would be his only way of stalling long enough to find another way out.

«You're not asleep,» Bigglesworth said suddenly, in a low voice. It was half a question, half a statement, and it took von Stalhein a few seconds to realize the enquiry was directed at him.

«No,» he allowed.

«Anything troubling you?»

«No.» As if he would admit it, were it the case.

«You've been very silent.»

«I am tired.» That had the merit of being the truth, if only part of it. But von Stalhein realized his mistake the moment he said the words. He would not usually admit to that either. If he did now, it could only be to stop more questions from coming, and naturally Bigglesworth would pick up on that.

«Is that all?» Bigglesworth probed.

Von Stalhein did not actually have to give him any explanation, but he had one handy - and indeed, that other worry had been nagging at him. «I find it odd these... other people would leave so easily. I can only think of two reasons why they would.»

«I'd like to hear them.»

«It is possible they left a small party behind, who are only waiting for us to show up. Then they could easily call the boat back with a radio.»

Bigglesworth was lying on his back very near von Stalhein, the upper part of his body actually partly resting on von Stalhein's arm, and he felt the Englishman stiffen at the thought.

«Do you think it is very likely?»

«That is hard to say.» It felt odd, to be discussing so calmly with an enemy the likeness of an ambush being laid for them. Odd, and yet strangely natural.

«What about the second reason?»

«Something else gave them reason to leave. That could be anything - new orders, perhaps. Out of the two, I am not certain this one would be the least worse, however.»

«We shall wait and see,» Bigglesworth said.

He relaxed again. Von Stalhein closed his eyes and tried to think of nothing, for he certainly had nothing pleasant to think of.

* * *

><p>A dark, oblong shape moved noiselessly in the water, only skimming the surface as it came closer to its objective. Most people who had fought in the war would have recognized instantly the ominous outline of a submarine. In fact, had new paint not covered it, one could have seen on the hull of the silent machine the familiar markings of a white «U,» followed by a number.<p>

The captain, his cap backwards on his head so the peak did not hinder him, took his time to watch through the periscope. Not that there was much to see. Though the clouds had cleared, the night remained dark, the island little more than a dark shape on the line of horizon.

An order was barked to reduce speed. Finding a suitable mooring place would take a little time, and although they were on an errand of some urgency, it would not do to let hurry influence one's better judgment.

After all, that which they were looking for was not going anywhere.

* * *

><p>Sleepily, Algy stretched out his arms, feeling the inevitable dust on his right and a warm body, wriggling a little closer to him as he touched it, on his left. That was odd. If he wasn't in bed, which he clearly wasn't, then he'd be with Biggles and the others and they'd be taking it in turns to watch, not sleep together...he blinked and woke fully, remembering.<p>

No point keeping a watch when nothing could be seen and they could hear better where they were currently lying. Chilly now, he was thinking, he scrunched up closer to Biggles as well, resting his white, frozen hand between them in a futile attempt to convince the blood to flow.

Biggles shifted back a bit, nudged an unfamiliar body and held still. «Algy? Is that icicle yours?»

A quiet snicker began and could be heard in the whispered reply, «Didn't mean to wake you, old chap. Yet having an icicle attached to your arm makes a good sleep hard to come by, you know?»

He sensed a distance between them and the incredulous words came from above his head, «You mean that's your _hand_? What did you do, leave it outside all night?» Biggles probed the darkness for Algy's face but gave up after a moment of thick blackness and lay down again.

Von Stalhein stirred and they held their breaths, but he appeared to be shifting and they continued their banter, concern evident in their tone. «As a matter of fact I did. It will come right presently, I've no doubt.»

The freezing hand was shifted, slowly and painfully, closer to Algy's legs, resting near his navel, and Biggles felt obliged to mutter, «No doubt it's feeling as bad as that time you went flying without gloves, you silly boy.»

Algy chuckled again, even more quietly, and shifted his head as a reminder they should keep quiet. «No doubt I'm the only person to have ever done that.» he returned, before interrupting himself with a sharp exhalation.

«Ensure our friend's awake, won't you, Bíggles? I'm just going to stick me head out.»

They'd both heard a resonant thump as something nearby touched the land near wherever the tunnel they were in came out. It was like being inside a long drum for a moment, and they both wondered what had caused it, differing only in the pictures of the boats they formed.

«You awake, Erich? Come on, another day, another game of hide-and-seek.» Biggles shook their companion's shoulder gently and was greeted with eyes snapping open almost immediately.

«You clearly were never an aide, with a wake up service like that.» Early morning gripe out of the way, von Stalhein struggled upright and looked around, eyes resting on the only spot of light, illuminating Algy's lower half. «You'd better not get us spotted, you fool.» He whisper-shouted, to an unmoving back.

Finally the three of them sat in a circle near the light, able to work out it was morning and not that early, to judge by the fully risen sun. «Someone has certainly landed, so we must guess who that is and that we don't want to meet them.» Algy reported, still cradling his chilly hand to his chest and willing the pins and needles to go away.

Von Stalhein frowned, «It doesn't make sense for them to move the same distance it took most of yesterday to move in just a few hours. They aren't in a frigate any more, I don't think.»

Algy nodded, «They certainly aren't- you get a moderately good view of the nearest bays here and there wasn't anything visible. But for something to make that loud a noise, it's more than a rubber dinghy, isn't it.»

Biggles and von Stalhein both nodded, the former removing Algy's cradled hand and rubbing it securely with his thumbs, knowing from experience how much it would help. «They have working comms, we know. They could call in anything they wanted. Probably they called in a stealthier craft - low and fast - to run people in shore without us realising. It's our good luck they nudged right near the outlet to this.»

Von Stalhein stood. «But they could come up it at any time. I would prefer not to be caught in a trap which will be safe only if they do not search their landing ground thoroughly. You know what the ends of these tubes look like.»

They nodded and joined him in the half crouch, waddling into position to get out. «Go on then, Erich, I'll give you a booster, same as last time.» Algy offered. The German looked at him, «If this is some trap of yours, Lacey, I shall ensure you are aptly repaid.»

Algy turned into the charming, innocent, trustworthy man he could be at times, fixing von Stalhein with his eyes, «I'm not leaving you alone in a tunnel with Biggles and you are the only one with a gun - the only one who could have a chance of shooting them. It makes sense to put you up first, as we did last time.»

Von Stalhein blinked, nodded, and stepped up to the wall, raising his hands above his head, «Very well, Lacey." This first name thing just did not work, he thought. «Give me a 'booster' as you put it.» Algy did so, holding his hands as a step and lifting them as required until von Stalhein was safely on his way up.

«Thanks.» He added, with a gesture to his fully restored hand, «I'll try and take more care of it next time.»

Biggles smiled. «We don't have a doctor with us, you'll notice. And sleep is supposed to cure things, not make them worse.» That certainly seemed to be the case for Biggles, now steady and a far more normal colour, not to mention eating for himself again.

«It is clear up here.» Von Stalhein stuck a head near the hole and called down to them gently. «Put one hand up, Bigglesworth, and I will give you a hand up.»

Algy lifted his companion's feet as he had done to the German before, «Just don't let him see the gun.» He whispered as Biggle's ear passed his mouth, «Or he'll be impossible to deal with.»

After some scrambling, he was left alone in the tunnel and he cast an eye around in the vain hope of spying any signs of disturbance. Their fire-place was probably fairly obvious to anyone with a powerful lantern, but there was nothing he could do about it now, lacking any light himself. Maybe he should take up smoking properly, so he always had matches and a lighter on him.

* * *

><p>«Thought you knew these waters?» The Captain was sarcastic, and the man currently at the helm groaned inwardly as he brought her in flush to the shore. «Lava flows regularly, sir. Hard to predict exactly.»<p>

The Captain grunted and called all engines off, marching away to hunt for some coffee, review the landing party and the safety of their position.

«We want him alive and able to talk...but there's not much space here for guarding a prisoner, so if he can't be thinking much about escape then it would be a good thing.» The head of the landing party nodded, fingering his bayonet, and saluted as they tramped up onto the flat deck of the U-boat and into the landing craft.

* * *

><p>Algy joined them after a scramble, helped with a hand or two, and they scuttled into the shadow of nearby rocks, bending close to whisper. «We need to see where they are, but there could be people round the other side of the island, too, and this box isn't going to be easy to carry.» Biggles nudged at the box Algy had passed up before him, glancing to check all their gear was present and correct.<p>

«Maybe we could lose it - one sandwich could be divvied up now for breakfast, the spare shirt on someone, the rest of the food in pockets. Was there anything else in there?»

Algy had yet to see the contents of the box and he opened it gingerly, blinking in the daylight. «A signal mirror. We'd better keep that covered - don't want to signal the wrong people with it.» It was slipped into his trouser pocket, along with a chocolate bar. «Hands out, and I'll divvy up,» he added with a grin. «We need to do it quickly, though, and throw this rubbish somewhere away from us, if we can.»

Two grimy pairs of hands selected appropriate numbers of bars - a measly supply - and the remains of a basic first aid kit which had been carefully selected from the main one presumably still in Ginger and Bertie's possession. «No fuel, but there might be a bit left in the container we rescued from the wreck - that's next to you, Erich.»

Von Stalhein unscrewed the cap and peered in. «I will not refill my lighter with aviation fuel if that is what you are proposing, Lacey. I do not think it would work.»

Algy shrugged. «Fair enough. What else do we have? How much water is there?»

Their last container was opened and peered into, «Full and half empty, so we can remain away from the streams for a while yet.» They nodded at each other, von Stalhein taking the fuel and Algy the water casks.

«Any ideas where we should head? There's more cover on the other side, but I'm about through with traipsing over that hill every day.»


	14. Hunted Down

**Chapter 14- Hunted Down  
><strong>

* * *

><p>«He would not be on this side, surely, sir? There's not much cover. He must have spotted us and would move into cover.»<p>

For his pains the astute sailor got a knock round the head. «He spotted the frigate and moved this way, away from trouble. You can be sure that is what he did - it is what he always does.» To emphasize his point, the officer spat on the ground and ground it into the dust with his foot. «We shall search along here and quarter along and up, if we have to. You, my stupid one, may take the shore line. Beware of sharks.»

Following a rhythm as old as hunting, the men spread out, quartering carefully.

* * *

><p>They could not hear much of what must be happening, which only added to the tension. A hidden threat was always more frightening than a visible one, no matter how rational one might try to be about it.<p>

«We should go higher up while getting closer to cover,» von Stalhein suggested after a few seconds. «We need to see who our enemies are, how many of them we must face, and what method they will use to track us down. When we know that, we can devise a plan to escape them.»

It was methodical - typically German, certainly - but coupled with a certain amount of imagination and initiative, it often worked for von Stalhein against less thorough opponents. Already Bigglesworth and Lacey were nodding in agreement.

«That sounds reasonable,» Bigglesworth said. «Let's not waste time then. You go first, we'll follow.»

It was said casually, but von Stalhein narrowed his eyes in suspicion all the same. The last thing he wanted was to have the two British behind him, whispering to each other. Bigglesworth had proven trustworthy - so far - but giving him too good an occasion would be foolish either way.

«I think I would rather it be the other way round,» he said, making it clear it was not a suggestion.

Bigglesworth only shrugged, looking half-amused, half-annoyed. «Oh, very well, if that'll suit you better. We really have no time to waste with such games.»

They set off, Bigglesworth in the lead, Lacey behind him, and von Stalhein as the rearguard. It made him the most likely to be shot if they were spotted, but he still preferred it that way. They began climbing, which was far from an easy task. They had to be very careful of not being spotted too easily, going from the assumption the newcomers had binoculars, and the climb itself was trying for men who had been on a severe diet. Soon enough they were all breathing heavily.

«At least we're not so cold anymore,» Lacey panted during one of their occasional five minute breaks.

Von Stalhein gave him a sour look. He could think of more pleasant ways to warm oneself up. Looking down, he tried to measure how far they had got; the estimation was rather depressing. They were progressing slowly.

They resumed walking, often slipping on the rugged terrain. Their hands were badly scratched, and the knees of their trousers in a sorry state, when they finally reached a reasonable height. From there, they could see a good deal of the island, without being themselves seen as they were hiding behind a great lump of rock.

«I think we could all use a chocolate bar now,» Bigglesworth said.

His suggestion was unsurprisingly met with unanimous agreement. Von Stalhein took the time to savour his food, what little of it there was anyway, while noticing with some amusement that Lacey had wolfed down his share and was looking at his and Bigglesworth's with longing, though he tried his best to hide it.

«That reminds me of that man we met some time ago in Asia,» Bigglesworth commented after he swallowed the last mouthful. «Perhaps you remember him, Erich, his name was Petroffsky.»

«Ah. The crazy Cossack,» von Stalhein nodded indifferently.

«Well, he was very fond of chocolate. That struck me as rather amusing. That six-feet tall man who hunted down tigers for the pleasure of it had only two weaknesses. Chocolate and vodka.»

«The latter can be excused as a consequence of his being Russian,» von Stalhein said with some bitterness.

He had had too often to deal with drunk, inept subordinates, and then getting the blame for their inefficiency. After all he was German, and to make it better, an aristocrat. The Russians loved to show their disapproval of such things. More than once, they had employed him only because he was both competent and not too great a loss, should the situation turn sour - as it did more often than not...

Von Stalhein suddenly realized what he had been thinking, and stopped himself brusquely. Such thoughts were both useless and unworthy of him. He had chosen to work for them, while being fully cognizant of what sort of people they were. He had not cared, at the time. Now it was too late; he had pledged himself to them, and he owed them loyalty.

He swallowed back his anger and looked up, only to find Bigglesworth looking back at him, with both curiosity and concern. He hated to see that look. They were _enemies_. But even as he told himself that, he did not truly believe it.

Now he knew why he was so reluctant to use their nicknames. Doing so would be to admit that there could be something akin to friendship between them, and that would prove that all he had believed in, all that had driven his life after Germany's first defeat, was now meaningless.

Turning away brusquely, if only not to cross Bigglesworth's too knowing eyes any longer, von Stalhein looked down at the sea and the slope of the volcano. Now he could see something moving. Men searching for them, no doubt. Bringing his hand to his forehead in an endeavour to protect himself from the glaring light of the sun, he tried to determine what pattern they followed. Bigglesworth and Lacey had joined him by then and were watching, too.

«They're walking in a circle,» von Stalhein noticed. «Going round the perimeter before they move up, because they do not have enough men to search the whole island at the same time. That gives us a chance.»

«I get it,» Bigglesworth said. «We go 'round them and keep moving each time they come close to our location. That way, if we are fast enough, they can keep searching the island all week long and never find us.»

«That's one of two ways,» von Stalhein agreed. «The other one is to find a very good hiding place, but I always found it to be depending too much on the enemy's thoroughness, or lack thereof. Going from the principle that if I found this hiding place, so can they.»

«All right,» Lacey said, obviously trying to sound perky when he felt everything but.

«Wait.» Von Stalhein was now looking intently at the sea, at a dark shape. At first he had dismissed it as a simple reef, but now that he looked closer, even at this distance, it seemed familiar. It was the upper part of a submarine - and not just any submarine, but a U-boat. Most had been destroyed during or after the war, but some had been recycled, mostly by Eastern Germany under Soviet control. Which meant...

Bigglesworth must have noticed his change of expression, and identified the U-boat as well, for he now looked at him with a queer look on his face.

«It would appear these are, in fact, my friends,» Erich said with some satisfaction. It was not so often that he scored a point on Bigglesworth, after all. He was entitled to savouring it.

«Possibly,» the British answered guardedly. «So what happens now?»

«I offered you a deal, a little while ago.»

«I refused it.»

«Never mind. I offer it again. You will go and hide; I will not disclose your presence or, if pressed, I will say you escaped when your friends picked you up, which will not be so far from the truth, if a little incorrect chronologically speaking.» Von Stalhein looked straight in Bigglesworth's eyes, blue meeting brown, and allowed himself a humourless smile. «I know what your duty means to you, Bigglesworth, because it means the same to me. But the cards have played against you this time. For once, perhaps you should just accept it, as I have had to so many times.»

Despite the situation, Bigglesworth did not look defeated. In fact he seemed... almost sorry. Something was wrong, von Stalhein thought. His instincts were screaming at him now. He darted a look at Lacey, and his ready stance told von Stalhein that he was in on whatever was happening. When he looked back at Bigglesworth, he saw a gun pointing at him. A Webley; the distracted thought crossed his mind as he tried to hide his astonishment.

«As you said,» Bigglesworth observed calmly, «we both know the meaning of duty. Mine is to not let you off this island with these documents you were carrying. Considering the circumstances, you will understand that it takes precedence over my survival.»

It took von Stalhein a few seconds to recover from his surprise, then understand where that gun must have sprung from, and he shook his head. «So there was a surprise in that package your friends dropped. I should have known. But I know you too well, Bigglesworth. You won't shoot me in cold blood - not to mention, if you do, that will bring my friends over.»

«I will not shoot you so long as I can avoid it,» Bigglesworth returned equanimously. «I wouldn't like to see you dead. But you will understand that if I must choose between you and my country, that will not be much of a choice at all. Algy will take your gun now.»

Von Stalhein tensed when Lacey closed the distance between them. The Briton was too experienced to block his friend's aim, of course, but he had to get close enough to take the gun. The moment he was within arm's reach, Erich stepped aside so that Bigglesworth could not take the risk of firing without hitting his friend, and tried to slide his left arm under Lacey's throat while he fumbled with the buckles of his holster to draw his gun.

He did not have time to draw the gun. Lacey was stronger than he looked and while the effect of surprise had allowed von Stalhein to gain the upper hand for a moment, it did not last. Lacey's elbow crashed in his ribs and he pushed him back. Von Stalhein stumbled on a rock and fell backwards, unable to catch himself before he hit the ground, hard. His head hit a rock and for a moment he did not hear or see anything.

When his sight cleared - he must not have lost consciousness for more than a few seconds, a minute or two at the most - Lacey was kneeling beside him, the lüger in his hand. Bigglesworth was kneeling on the other side, holding the webley.

«I should have known you'd try something like that,» Bigglesworth commented casually. «How's the head?»

Von Stalhein sat up, slowly. His head hurt, but he felt no nausea - apart from that of having lost the upper hand, yet again, which had nothing to do with the head injury. If he pretended to be seriously wounded, perhaps he could slow them down, but he doubted he could fake it believably so he gave up on the idea and stood up.

«Let's go then,» Bigglesworth said.

* * *

><p>It would have been easier had they been able to talk freely, Algy reflected, instead of having to try and prevent the German from working out what their plan was. As far as that went though, it wasn't very complicated and years of working and living together allowed them an economy of words denied to many another man.<p>

Tacitly they had agreed to keep moving, keeping their eyes peeled for the Soviets. Von Stalhein was between them now and Algy, bringing up the rear, kept his gun drawn.

Biggles had kept his gun in his belt post-takeover, thinking it would be harder to get at should von Stalhein decide to tackle him. Not that there was much worry, given Algy had them both covered.

They moved in silence for the most part, one or the other occasionally hissing in frustration as the uneven terrain conspired against them. However they kept out of sight and edged uphill, towards the nearest bit of serious cover to where the men seemed to be based.

There was no real reasoning behind it beyond knowing exactly where they were at instead of only vaguely. It made the two Englishmen, and the German, feel safer. As they got nearer, pausing to peer at the patrol and ensure they had yet to be spotted Algy felt obliged to remind von Stalhein of the terms of travel. «You contact them and I shoot you. Biggles mightn't be able to do it in cold blood, but you know I have no qualms.»

Their positioning was such that von Stalhein could stare at Algy and read the truth in those eyes. The German had always thought Algy to be the weaker of the two men, to be softer and less inclined to violence. Now he saw that underneath it all, Algy was in fact a cold-blooded killer, held back from violence in some complicated arrangement between duty, country and Biggles. The natural negation which had sprung to his lips died again as he glanced away from the steely eyes.

«I'm sure that won't be necessary.» Biggles added. It was in a tone almost as cold as the one Algy used and didn't make von Stalhein feel any better. What was wrong with him? Were there, somehow, two sets of Brits on this island, looking remarkably similar? This was not the man who had offered sympathy last night, perfunctory though it may have been.

«No sign of 'em,» Boss.»

A hand signal brought the searchers in and the three men craned to see what was happening. Von Stalhein tensed, though got no further in his thoughts of escape as Algy pressed the barrel of his gun - his own, good honest German pistol - into his thigh. The patrol stretched out, clearly moving to search up the hill and so gain a vantage point as they did so.

Biggles breathed into Algy's ear, «If we don't move soon, we'll be sitting ducks. Come over here a bit and let's have a chinwag.»

Stealthily, they slipped further from their prisoner, never letting him out of sight.

«I don't want Ginger and Bertie flying in over this and getting shot down. I also don't want to leave here without the knowledge von Stalhein's carrying around with him.»

Algy nodded, raising an eyebrow, «Remember when we were in Russia, getting into Finland and we took him down by trickery? If we could get onto that sub we'd be home and hosed...They're flying a sea plane after all.»

Biggles smiled. «I knew I took you with me for a reason, Algy. If we can slip down onto the landing area and entice a lot of the crew off the sub. We don't need to sink her or anything so we won't need a huge crew - just the ones that are left behind anyway. We'd need to convince Erich maybe...»

They shared a grin as the plan took shape in quick, war-sharpened minds. «We'll get down there, get rid of some of the crew, kidnap the captain and get him on board our plans with von Stalhein's help, then?»

Biggles nodded, «Let's hop to it.»

Carefully, Algy brought von Stalhein back down into line and they snuck back along the side of a spur, just on the landward side, hoping to escape any notice again. It seemed to work and apart from some stumbling on the loose rocks, they made it back down near the shore-line without mishap.

* * *

><p>Von Stalhein's mind was teeming with ideas and crazy schemes. He could easily slip on this surface, he knew, and take Bigglesworth down with him. But then, he wasn't sure he could stop the downwards slide and even if he could, Bigglesworth would have him knocked down and in line again before he could take advantage of it. No, that wouldn't be the way. If he could just contact those on board, life would be better.<p>

He glanced up again, noticing where they were going. It seemed almost as if they were approaching the stretch of shore which had been picked as a safe harbour. He wondered why - it was too much to hope that the airmen didn't know where they were going. They seemed to have distressingly good senses of direction, even when driven around in the dark.

'Did you see that?» the sentries were hardly interested in anything other than the highly-visible landing party, now a good three- quarters of the way into their climb. However one of them thought he'd seen something closer to home.

"What?»

Of course it wasn't clear what, or even where, and they dropped it after a few pointless moments scanning the nearer turf.

«Now.» Biggles fixed von Stalhein with a stern look and frowned slightly. «You are going to meet the captain out here, just him and you, and you are going to arrange for most of the men to be left on the island, searching for us. We are then going to take over the sub and leave you here.»

Von Stalhein stopped nodding and joined in the frown, «Why leave me here? Don't you need the information?»

Algy, sitting nearby and until that moment looking less than alert, stated coldly, «If you won't give us the information to take off the island, von Stalhein, then the information won't get off the island.»

The effect was enhanced by the way he had his eyes on some point on the horizon, sweeping it idly before turning back to study the U- boat. Not once did he acknowledge von Stalhein might be a human being about to die.

Von Stalhein had to hand it to them, their acting was superb. «If you think I will give it to you on an idle threat, you are much mistaken, Bigglesworth. I can easily withstand such thoughts.»

Biggles raised an eyebrow, «Indeed. Though if you must hold out until the information is no longer of any use I fear you will fail. It isn't as near a deadline as you would have us believe.»

The German paled a little, and Algy smiled a tight-lipped smile, «You see we know more about this than you thought.»

So they knew. They knew exactly what it was they were after. Grudgingly, von Stalhein had to admit to himself that he had a headache, a sore foot and a need for sleep which wouldn't dissipate. He glared at the two disgustingly healthy men in front of him and weighed his options. He could probably, just about, make it to the U-boat before the British, provided he didn't fall over, and then he'd be safer. He doubted the Captain would leave without his men though, which meant delays which could bring in a plane again.

He could sit it out and try not to tell them anything - after all they were airmen, not trained in the use of force to remove information, and he was trained to deal with torture as a matter of course. However, looking into the brown eyes which suddenly slid onto his face, calculating, then away again, von Stalhein realised he'd never been tortured by a man who knew him well, as Bigglesworth did, and a man determined to break him and with nothing to lose, as Lacey was.

He didn't think he could hold that out for four days, though of course he'd give it his best shot. Duty and all that.

The two airmen sat next to each other, Algy nearest von Stalhein and still with a gun pulled. «We'll have to do something soon, you know.» he muttered into his companions ear, «Even if it's just one of us going to sleep. It's late afternoon and we haven't moved for hours. Those searchers are over the hill now and I bet they don't come back till later tomorrow.»

Biggles nodded. «I don't want to have to force it out of him, of course, but we have our duty, as does he. Besides, it may be we have to walk back along to where we were a few days ago - we'll both need to go as I was only there a short while, you remember.»

Remembering the shocking state Biggles had been in, Algy nodded grimly, resting a hand lightly on his companion's knee to reassure himself. «Shall we ask him again, then?»

They glanced at their prisoner, whose head had at some point rolled on his shoulder. His eyes were closed, his breath even and deep, his face more peaceful than it could conceivably be when the man was awake. Biggles had a slight, self-mocking grimace.

«It almost pains me to wake him,» he confessed in a wry whisper.

Algy snorted, though he felt a quick smile quirk his lips and, bending over, shook lightly at their prisoner's shoulder. Von Stalhein startled awake, eyes darting to the two Britons before he was aware again of his situation and he slumped back, relaxing suddenly. Algy had gripped his gun, and he let go of it again when it became obvious von Stalhein was not going to try anything. Still, he made sure he was far enough from him. He did not trust von Stalhein one bit to behave. Nor would he himself, were he in such a situation.

«Listen, Erich,» Biggles began, sounding resolutely reasonable. «You still can get out of this. You realize that England won't abuse this information. We have no interest in an escalation of the conflict, no more than you and your people do.»

«That is not the point,» von Stalhein said. His voice betrayed his weariness, though it was as sharp and alert as ever.

«Is it not?» countered Biggles. «In the end, it is all about the reasons why you will do something.»

«So you think England is on the right side.»

«Yes, I do.»

Algy frowned slightly in annoyance. It was hardly the place or the time to be holding a philosophical discussion, but Biggles seemed decided to indulge their prisoner. But he knew the stubborn German better, of course, so as always Algy would trust his friend's judgment. Von Stalhein was shaking his head.

«There is never a right side in wars, only two aspects of the same truth. In the end, it is the winners who write history.»

The man was stalling, Algy thought. Of course, it would not work.

«It is rather sad that you think so,» said Biggles. «But that is beside the point. The point is, we have an objective and you know we will do all we can to reach it. I am offering you the chance to get out of this unscathed.»

«Such a suggestion is rather insulting. I am not a mercenary, Bigglesworth. Don't waste your breath on useless threats.»

Algy thought he saw a flash of fear in the German's eyes, but he could not be sure. Not that he could blame him, he thought grimly. He had not always felt very comfortable when von Stalhein had been the one holding the gun - and the German had not once threatened to torture them in the past few days. Crushing mercilessly the stirrings of his conscience, Algy kept his face stony and his gun steady. He would have time to regret the necessity of this situation later, but even now there was no doubt in his mind that he did what he had to.

«I am willing to find a compromise,» Biggles said. He was apparently still hoping to talk this out. He certainly knew that it would not work, Algy thought, but he felt bound to try. He trusted Biggles to do that sort of things, and in a way he was relieved to be able to rely on his friend's compassion and humanity, when he could not trust his own.

Von Stalhein showed wary interest. «A compromise?»

Biggles knelt beside him, features intent and earnest. «Burn these documents. Nobody gets them, nobody loses, nobody wins. We wait for Ginger and Bertie to get us, you leave with the submarine, and we all go back to our usual business.»

* * *

><p>Bigglesworth really did not understand his position, von Stalhein thought grimly. Or perhaps he did a little too well. Be that as it may, there were so many reasons why his offer, while generous, was completely unacceptable. Von Stalhein's position was too shaky already; after such a setback, he would not give a kopeck for his life when he got back home. And then there was the unbearable perspective of losing to Bigglesworth, yet again. As always.<p>

But there was more than that, a feeling of shame deeply rooted in von Stalhein's upbringing at the idea of betrayal. That would make him lose the one thing he could still cling to, as meaningless as it might be; his pride. But then, why was he so sorely tempted? His Prussian morals warred with the vague feeling that it might be acceptable to agree - perhaps even the right thing to do...

No. He was confused and tired, that would explain a temporary lapse in judgment. He could not agree to that sort of compromise, not because he would be betraying his superiors - when he allowed himself to be honest, von Stalhein had to admit they probably deserved no better - but because he would be betraying himself.

He looked up at Bigglesworth, then quickly away. He did not like the way the Englishman looked at him. «I cannot accept,» he said. Not because he did not want to, but because truly he could not.

Bigglesworth heaved a sigh. «Very well,» he said simply. He did not sound surprised.

Lacey took a step forward to get closer to his friend and addressed him in a hushed voice. «So what now?» he slid a glance at von Stalhein, who returned it more equanimously than he felt.

«You're asking me?» Bigglesworth had a distinctly humourless smile.

It faded soon enough, quickly replaced by a thoughtful look. Von Stalhein was not sure he liked it any better this way. A thinking foe was a dangerous one.

«We'll take advantage of the little quiet we have now, I think,» Bigglesworth said. He was now looking speculatively at von Stalhein in a most disturbing way. «Let's rest for a little while. I'll take first watch if you like, Algy.»

Lacey cast Bigglesworth a queer look, but did not protest and he lay down as comfortably as he could. Von Stalhein closed his own eyes; the light of the day was too intense for his liking. A rustle of clothes made him snap them open for a second, but it was only Bigglesworth sitting down a metre or two across, gun ostentatiously in hand though not directly pointed at him.

«If your friends find us, of course,» Bigglesworth said casually, «I shall have to shoot you first.»

An excellent way to start a friendly conversation.

«Are you trying to push a point?»

«You put me in a quandary,» returned Bigglesworth. «I don't care much for torture, you know. But what other choice do I have? Wait for Bertie and Ginger to come back, and see them be shot down?»

«You could let me go,» suggested von Stalhein quietly, though without much hope. «And we both know you won't torture me, or anyone else for that matter, so you may drop the pretense.»

«I won't. But Algy might.»

«So you would let him do the dirty job and get the nightmares? I doubt it.»

Bigglesworth took a slow, deep breath. He looked almost as tired as von Stalhein felt. «I still don't see why you're so obstinate about this.»

Von Stalhein felt the absurd desire to laugh, though he did not indulge himself. He had read somewhere about tiredness and hysteria, and did not feel like allowing a repeat of the shameful behaviour he had shown only two days before. «I picked my side long ago, Bigglesworth.» Though he had not really picked anything, he had been born a Prussian and that was it. «There is a saying...»

«Ah, yes. I believe you're almost as fond of sayings as of bargains.»

Von Stalhein shrugged. «When the wine's drawn, you have to drink it.»

«People have a right to change - and to change their minds. Do you think it more shameful to change sides than to follow the orders of a bunch of thugs and psychopaths? Your problem is, you always defined yourself by your enemies, not by your allies, which is probably why you have such a poor taste insofar as the latter are concerned. You could have gone to West Germany, or anywhere else for that matter, rebuilt your life. You have brains. We both know you could have easily made a living in whatever branch of business you chose. Or did that feel too much like surrendering to you? Sooner or later, you'll have to acknowledge that the war is over, and the time to go gallivanting in jackboots is past.»

That last remark had cut a little too close for comfort, and von Stalhein pursed his lips. «You're one to talk,» he observed. «Still off chasing people in a plane. You miss the thrill of the hunt as surely as...» he trailed off, realizing he had gone on a dangerous ground.

«As surely as you miss the old days, yourself?» suggested Bigglesworth. «I'm not saying it isn't true, only my line of work is more legitimate than yours. You've chosen to associate yourself with a rather nasty crowd, and don't tell me you like them - I know it isn't true.»

After that there was not much to add, and so the two men simply stared at each other. The plan Biggles had devised involved waiting for nightfall, so he was in no hurry. Soon enough, von Stalhein's head rolled again on his shoulder, probably without him even being aware of it. In a matter of minutes, he was sound asleep - and would probably wake up with a sore neck. Biggles waited for an hour or so before he prodded Algy awake.

«Uh,» groaned Algy as he rubbed his eyes. «What I wouldn't give for a cup of coffee. Searing hot, sugar, no milk, thank you.»

«Best I can offer you is some water,» said Biggles, smiling.

Algy shook his head sadly but he accepted the bottle of water his friend handed him and swallowed a gulp or two. «All right, what's new?»

«Nothing much. Friend Erich isn't too talkative - at least, not in any way that interests us.»

«Too bad. Can't say I'm surprised, though.»

«Your idea still goes,» added Biggles. «The only difference is, we'll have to take him with us.»

«That will complicate the matters. Old Erich will kick a fuss.»

«I don't see that we have a choice. And he can't much complain - we did try to give him other options. He wouldn't take them, so as he said himself he'll just have to drink the wine he's drawn.»

Algy looked puzzled. «He said that?»

«Something to that effect. Now listen, here's my plan. It'll require some coordination, but I believe we can pull it off if we're quick on our feet. As I see it, the sub is our only way out, because even if Bertie and Ginger show up, they'll be caught before we can meet up with them, and we're outnumbered and out gunned.»

«But even if we did managed to capture the sub - and that's a big if, as far as I'm concerned - how could we let Bertie and Ginger know how to fetch us?»

«I expect they have a radio onboard the sub,» Biggles said. «We can use that.»

«Right,» Algy nodded. «I should have thought of that. Still, how do you expect to take over a U-boat with only the two of us, and dragging an unwilling prisoner at that?»

A smile twisted Biggles' lips. «Here, surprise will play in our favour. Look, a U-boat will carry between twenty and fifty men, depending on how big it is. I only had a cursory look at this one, but I'm inclined to think it carries no more than twenty to thirty men. They probably left no more than two or three men onboard, the bare minimum, because the rest would want to stretch their feet and come looking for us.»

«That leaves the problem of actually getting to it.»

«We'll just have to borrow the dinghy our friends used to come ashore. That'll kill two birds with one stone, we'll get to the U-boat and stop anyone else from doing the same. That will enable us to wait for a little while. We couldn't steer the U-boat of course, not with such a small crew, notwithstanding the fact that they would not cooperate anyway, but we can send a message to Ginger and Bertie.»

Algy seemed to ponder the matter for a moment. «I expect they'll be guarding the dinghy, though. How do we take it with only two guns and two dozens bullets?»

Biggles actually grinned, this time. «That's where friend Erich will help us.»

«But you said he wouldn't...» protested Algy, taken aback.

«Hear me out. We'll get close to their camp, I'll call to them in German. Most of them will come after me, or so I hope. You can threaten whoever's left behind with your gun and take the dinghy to the sub. I'll try to join you before you're too far from the shore.»

Algy did not seem really enthralled by that plan. «I'm not sure I can deal with both von Stalhein and the rest while rowing to the sub.»

«That's why we'll have to tie up Erich, and gag him too, or I bet he'd cry out and try to get away.»

«I still don't like it,» said Algy with a frown. «What about you stay to take the dinghy and I draw them away?»

Biggles had a grim smile. «Still trying to deflect the danger to yourself, are you? Someday you'll have to let me take my own chances.»

«Bullocks. You take more than enough as it is, and of the two of us I'm the one who's up to a run in the forest.»

«My German's better than yours.»

Algy shrugged. «So what? I don't need to strike a conversation, and chances are they'd run after me even if I spoke with the most horrible accent, if only to interrogate me.»

Biggles sighed, then shook his head and smiles wanly. «You'll never agree if I don't let you have your way, will you? Fine, then, if you insist. You can draw them away while I steal the dinghy.»

«I still think it's madness,» Algy opined. He looked up at the sky, which was darkening, and ran a hand in his hair, spreading unwholsome amounts of dust and sweat on his forehead.

«But what else can we do?» objected Biggles. «We can't wait for Bertie and Ginger to come back, and we can't take on our enemies ten or twenty to one.»

Algy's eyes drifted to von Stalhein, who was still asleep in what looked like an awkward and uncomfortable position. «What can we tie him up with?»

Biggles produced the piece of fabric that had been tied to the box sent by Ginger and Bertie, which he had kept through all the moving around. "This should do.»


	15. Uboat Escapade

**A/N : I'd like to thank the two people who reviewed - can't reply directly, as I don't have any way of contacting you, but thanks. It's much appreciated. Here's next chapter. I think this story will probably hit the 100,000 words mark.  
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**Chapter 15 - U-boat Escapade  
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><p>Von Stalhein woke abruptly, wondering for a split second what it was that had woken him, before he looked around and took in Lacey standing over him with a piece of cloth in his hand.<p>

«It's almost nightfall.» the Briton greeted him, «And you know as well as I that sunset doesn't last hours here like it does back home. I'm not tying you up in the dark.»

«I do not think you need to tie me up at all.» he protested, knowing it was largely futile. His neck was sore and he twisted it, trying to get the kinks out, eyeing his position and weighing up his options. Something was afoot, that much was clear, but what it was and his part in it was, for now at least, not so obvious. From a position half a dozen metres away, Bigglesworth eyed them both, one hand unconcernedly involved in covering them with his pistol, the other resting on his knee.

«Hands behind your back, von Stalhein, and make it snappy.» Lacey sounded almost unconcerned, though the thoroughness with which he tied the knots around thumbs, wrists and forearms belied that relaxation. «Wriggle your fingers for me, now. I don't want to be pulled up for amputating limbs without cause.»

Dutifully, von Stalhein wriggled his fingers as best he could, trying to make it look harder than it really was to get some more slack. It didn't work as Lacey stepped over towards Bigglesworth, never marring the aim of the pistol.

«Are you sure they aren't too tight? We don't need a case of gangrene as well.»

Algy thinned his lips in a fair approximation of a humourless grin. «By the time gangrene sets in we'll be far away. But he'll be fine - they'll be able to be kept on for days without any ill effects...apart from increasing bad humour and possibly a little hunger.»

He settled down next to Biggles, on the other side, and shaded a hand against the glare of the sun on the sea. «There's no sign of anybody else being around. We've still a good three-quarters of an hour. Get some kip, if you like.»

For years both had held in high esteem their ability to fall asleep at the drop of a hat and wake ready for duty, or close enough. «Wake me in ten minutes.» Biggles instructed, as he pocketed his pistol and slid into a more comfortable position.

Algy looked out over the hill where there hadn't been a searching a party for some time. Hopefully they would stay on that side of the island - maybe they'd follow the river down and discover the wreck at first light. That would keep them busy enough - the vegetation was thicker and harder to move through and search. He amused himself for a few minutes in imagining the increasing frustration of the searchers and the eventual realisation they'd lost the U- boat.

He wasn't sure if he could, in all fairness, leave von Stalhein to them. Livid probably wouldn't begin to describe their reactions. That was something to be decided later, once they'd taken the next big step and set about taking on the U- boat.

Carefully, Algy scrutinised the sky, squinting as best he could, but couldn't see or hear anything and could only hope the others had got back alright. He glanced over again at von Stalhein, sitting glumly staring out to sea, and wondered what went wrong that they were required to run into each other so often that now they almost knew each other. In another world they'd be an unstoppable group of five, not four with a wily enemy.

In a rush of emotion he was intensely glad to have found Biggles. Speaking of which...guiltily he shook the man awake. «Suns set.» Biggles noted. «We'll give it a little longer. How's Erich?»

«Sorely lacking in information.» Von Stalhein replied, glaring at them both. The unsteadiness of the ground had him unable to move to stand up without support from his hands which were now out of commission. «I need to know what is happening before I have any part in it.»

Biggles stood, shook himself, and crouched down next to the German. «All you need to know.» he said quietly, «is that if you don't do what you're told, you won't be doing anything for a while.»

At the incredulous look that received he added, fairly, «I won't kill you, but I've no qualms about reminding you of the terms at which you remain our guest. You will come with me and you will say only what you should say, and in the correct tone and manner that it should be said.»

«You will be leaving Lacey here?» von Stalhein looked at the worse-for-wear airman nearby.

«Oh, he won't be leaving me anywhere.» responded Algy lightly, «But I don't want to spoil the nice surprise. We'll all go down together I think, then I'll leave you two to become better acquainted while I rush off to meet a friend or two. Then we'll all go for a jolly little paddle, as Bertie would put it.»

«I hope they're alright.» Biggles mused, glancing briefly at the sky.

«They'll be fine, haring around the place like a couple of kids. Now, shall we?» Algy seemed to be looking forward to his part in their crazy adventure and von Stalhein wondered what they'd be up to.

Two pairs of rough hands pulled him upright and he set off after Biggles, cursing internally as he slid over the ground - hard enough to navigate during daylight with two fully-functioning hands. «Try and make a little less noise.» Algy suggested quietly, the softness of his tone suggesting both amusement and danger. Grimly, von Stalhein tried. It worked a little, but hardly enough.

Suddenly Biggles sank down, concealed from the now much closer sea by a handy clump of rocks. von Stalhein followed his example and Algy wriggled in behind them, peering over the edge and ducking back to nod at Biggles.

Taking a steadying breath, Algy licked his lips, scuttled a few yards away then stood and sauntered out under the saline-loving trees, then von Stalhein saw no more for a while because Bigglesworth was tying him, roughly, into a gag and hushing him. «One word and I'll leave you here with the search party.» The Briton grunted, and von Stalhein nodded, hoping the eager movements could be felt, given they couldn't be seen.

There was a sudden commotion as, in a passable but clearly foreign accent, a voice called out to the remaining shore-party. «_Kommen Sie hier! Jetzt! Schnell, schnell_!» If utter chaos was the aim then Algy achieved it with aplomb.

The party of six looked at each other, one of them, clearly the most dense, asking why they should hurry. They grabbed their rifles and ran in the direction of the voice which, seeming to sense their indecision as to which way to turn, called out, slightly higher-pitched this time, «_Schnell! Ich bin hier_!»

No sooner had the six men left than Biggles was up and pushing von Stalhein ahead of him. «Any funny business and you're for it,» he rasped, throwing the German into the dinghy and pushing it out into the water proper before jumping in himself.

A vile curse caused him to look down. In his haste he'd jumped in to land on top of the prostrate German. «I don't remember asking you to take a turn at the oars.» He commented, rearranging the two of them. «So you needn't complain so much. If you will try and escape then you've only yourself to blame when I stop you.»

Von Stalhein glared at him bitterly but subsided against the gunwale and let Biggles row in steady, quiet strokes along the coast to where he was sure Algy would be making.

* * *

><p>Algy paused in his flight - running up and around the clump of rocks they'd been based in that day - to listen. Angry shouts and footsteps were still in attendance and he grinned to himself, trying to get his breathing under control. He glanced back instinctively, couldn't see anything, and turned to keep running.<p>

Sliding and half-skiing down the scree, he was pleased he'd convinced Biggles to go in the boat. This was hardly the sort of activity to be undertaken on little food and sleep. Besides, he, Algy, didn't much go in for being along in a boat with a bound and gagged von Stalhein. That man clearly was a relation of Houdini.

The ground underneath his feet changed and he stumbled as a controlled slide gave way to running. The sound of breakers was audible underneath his harsh breathing and he peered hopefully out for some indication of the craft. He slowed to a brisk walk and took a deep breath or two before whistling low and long, pausing and holding his breath to hear the reply.

There! A few hundred yards further on and he'd be away. There was the sound of a small avalanche behind him and he quickened his pace, wary of hearing the noise stop. The sailors were clearly closer than he'd realised. Hopefully they hadn't heard him, didn't realise which way he was going. While he was thinking, he was moving slowly and cautiously along the water's edge, trying to drown the noise of his progress. It was imperative he reached the boat before them, preferably without them realising he had done so.

* * *

><p>Hearing the whistle Biggles began the journey back again, peering out into the night and hoping he'd spot Algy before the others did. For a minute or two he splashed softly along the shore line, keeping an eye peeled and an ear cocked. Stumbling footsteps and harsh breathing gave him some idea and he whistled again, hearing them change direction and the welcoming voice call out, softly, «Biggles.»<p>

After that it was mainly a nicety - fitting three people into the launch wasn't hard work when it was made to hold many more, and he and Algy each pulled an oar, aiming to make good time.

There were muted shouts heard from the island but as they approached the berth of the U- boat they died away and Biggles relinquished his oar to Algy, moving to rest a warning hand on their prisoner and prepare to speak to the sentry.

This was the major flaw in carrying off their plan at night - they couldn't tell how many were on board and where they were. In daylight, of course, there'd be even more risks, so they had to continue in good faith.

Algy slowed his strokes as the black bulk loomed next to them and they glided in neatly. A soft voice startled them, but it was as well it startled them to silence as a moment later another answered it and they learned there were, in fact, only two men on board - the Captain and the Navigational Officer. By the sound of it they were both up top enjoying a smoke, and Biggles frowned at this show of relaxation.

Of course had they been in a similar situation they would probably have behaved in the same way, before tonight. There were a couple of splashes as Algy shipped oars and felt along for a tethering- spot. Once found, they sat there for a while longer, von Stalhein occasionally wriggling or muttering. Each time he did so one or the other of the airmen would remind him - Biggles with a smart tap on the shoulder, Algy with a sharp prod with his toe - that any move now would be detrimental to his health.

«We need to get on board and send a message to Ginger and Bertie telling them to approach from the north-west, coming into this harbour, and we need to disarm those two officers,» Biggles breathed in Algy's ear.

Algy nodded, «We'll get up there together, disarm them both, get all three downstairs, lock them in and then send the message in peace, yes?»

«You take the officer, I'll take the captain. If dear old Erich» Biggles indicated the original prisoner, «is silly enough to cast himself loose in this old thing then that's his look out. We won't be untying you at all, von Stalhein.»

There was a noise which they took to be agreement, though Algy took the precaution of double-checking the tightness of the ropes before they stood, stepping aboard the deck.

«They're further along, nearer the turret. They mustn't get down into the turret before we do - they could take her down immediately if they wanted to, if they worked hard enough. Then we'd be sunk, quite literally.» Biggles pointed out, as they found two ladders on either side of the turret.

«Well, up you go, and I'll slam the hatch down before taking out mine. Don't do anything stupid.» They parted to climb the two ladders, soft shoes making no noise as they placed each toe on the edge of the rung.

Algy was a solid black figure next to the hatch when Biggles took a quick glance before speaking at the two figures turning towards them.

«Hands in the air so I can make them out.» he snapped then, when it seemed not to be getting through he repeated the order in German.

Two men stepped forward, hands dutifully raised, and Biggles pulled out the remains of the streamer and fabric from the parcel. «One of you step over here, the other to my companion.» He ordered.

There was no hasty compliance now, until Algy rattled his pistol threateningly. Then they both obeyed with alacrity.

Bound and gagged, they were preceded into the belly of the U- boat by Biggles, who took a long glance around before letting them down and leaving them trussed up in the officers mess as the closest, least dangerous place to have them. He returned to find Algy about to make his way into the radio room.

«What about von Stalhein?»

Algy shrugged, «I wasn't going to move him by myself and you were busy.» but he followed Biggles up the ladder anyway, letting the hatch fall with a reverberating clang.

«All I can point out is the luck we're having - boots would make quite a sound on these.» Algy mused, then looked up, «They don't know how many of us there are, do they? If we needed to we could have them think there were hundreds...well, twenty..men wondering around up here. Or, it would be a good last-minute safety net.»

Biggles grinned, «First things first, movement of the last prisoner,» was all he said, but he said it in a way which meant he was getting an idea.

* * *

><p>Moving von Stalhein was not as easy as it might seem. With his hands tied in his back, he could not climb the ladder by himself, and the hull was slippery enough that it would be hard to help him up without risking an accident. In the end, Algy temporarily freed him, with a quiet warning, spoken threateningly enough that the German did not try anything. That disturbed Algy somewhat, as von Stalhein tamely made his way inside the sub. Courage was not the least of the German's qualities, and if he was being so accommodating, he must have reasons of his own. Algy had to wonder what calculations and plans went through the head of their wily prisoner, and he was especially careful when he tied the man's hands back together.<p>

«Should we not make sure that we're in control of the sub?» Algy asked, while keeping a concerned eye on von Stalhein.

«We can do that later,» said Biggles. «The priority lies with the radio. Anyhow, I doubt there are many left. We can just keep a lookout for the time being.»

Biggles led the way to the radio room, and Algy pushed von Stalhein forward, gently enough. «Move along now.»

A nasty surprise was waiting for them in the radio room. Biggles sat expectantly in front of the device, but a second later a dismayed frown marred his brow.

«What's the matter?» Algy asked, leaning slightly forward though he was careful to keep von Stalhein well in sight.

«I'm not familiar with this model,» murmured Biggles. «And it's all written in Russian.»

Indeed, there was no escaping the problem; though the sub was undoubtedly German, the radio was Russian-made, and none too easy to operate. The setting of the frequencies was particularly complicated, and though an operating manual was prominently lying on the table, it was also written in Russian. After a minute or two of unsuccessful manipulations, Biggles threw his head back in frustration.

«I'll be damned,» he swore, which in itself showed how weary he must feel, «this used to be so simple twenty years ago! This ought to show the downsides of sophistication.»

Von Stalhein, who was no longer gagged, bore a mocking smile that made Algy want to hit him, until he thought of something.

«Well, doesn't von Stalhein speak Russian? And he might know how the radio works, anyway» he asked, and saw a speculating look cross Biggles' features.

«I think he does. Don't you, Erich?»

Von Stalhein was no longer smiling. «Whether I speak it or not,» he enunciated carefully, «is irrelevant, because I am not helping you.»

«Things will not go well for you if you don't,» Algy warned him, but got only a sneer in answer.

«Threats are no use unless you intend to carry them out,» the German observed, «and I know you too well to believe you would resort to those methods. We have been through that already, I believe.»

Algy had to keep back an exasperated sigh. Of course old Erich would be difficult. He always was. But as he was not willing to help, and as there was no coercing him - not to the extent it would take to break him - that left only one solution; they would have to convince him. Best to leave that to Biggles.

«We could negotiate,» Biggles offered. «At this time, you are our prisoner. I would be willing to negotiate the terms of your release.»

Von Stalhein looked grimly amused. «My freedom would not do me much good, were I to betray my employers. They do not take kindly to such behaviour.»

«But you would not really be betraying them,» Biggles said in a reasonable voice. «You will just be letting us go. That would not be the first time, would it?»

Von Stalhein gave him a sour look. Apparently, he did not like to be reminded of his rare bursts of goodness. Nevertheless, he seemed to consider Biggles' point carefully. Algy wondered what Biggles had in mind. Why did he offer to release their prisoner, when it had been established already that they could not let him go with the blueprints? Obviously, the German was asking himself the same question, as he weighed Biggles up with a calculating look.

«Why would you offer to let me go now, when you refused the deal I offered you only a few hours ago?»

«The situation has changed,» Biggles returned equanimously. «We no longer have the upper hand, nor the initiative. For us to be caught by your friends - and no doubt executed shortly thereafter - would not help Britain. If anything, I'd rather escape to warn my superiors to expect nasty business east of Berlin.»

That made sense, and Algy might well have believed it, had he not known Biggles so well. Half seated on a corner of the table in the cramped space of the radio room, he watched von Stalhein's face. The German knew Biggles too, and looked half-doubtful, half-wary.

«That would be a reasonable train of thought,» he conceded. «But you have not been known to do the reasonable thing, Bigglesworth. And I have never seen you give priority to your personal safety over your mission, even when that mission was self-assigned.»

«Bollocks,» retorted Biggles with a casual wave of hand. «I am willing to take risks to achieve my objectives, but I'm hardly suicidal. I can recognize a hopeless situation...»

Algy would never know whether Biggles might have eventually convinced von Stalhein, as they were interrupted by a harsh, cold voice; first in Russian, then in German.

«_Hände hoch_!»

In a single movement, Biggles, Algy and von Stalhein turned to face the newcomer who was looking at them mockingly from the threshold. Algy inwardly berated himself, feeling both despair and fury wash over him as he realized that, focused on the discussion between von Stalhein and Biggles, he had forgotten to watch the door. To be honest, he had thought that von Stalhein was a more immediate threat. Obviously, he had been wrong.

«Or perhaps I should switch to English,» the newcomer said, sarcasm litterally dripping from his words. «I hope I did not interrupt that cosy little chat between friends, did I? Oh, and please lay your guns on that table, why don't you? But slowly, or I will have to shoot you.»

Even as he complied and reluctantly removed the webley from his belt, Algy stole a glance at their enemy. The man, who wore what appeared to be a naval uniform without markings, had a definite slavic look about him, with blond hair, blue eyes and high cheekbones. He might have been handsome, if not for the ruthlessness of his expression and his feral smile. That man, Algy thought, would kill without hesitation; possibly enjoy it.

«Hardly between friends,» said von Stalhein. «You arrived at a good time, Andrei.»

Despite the almost desperate situation, Algy had to notice two oddities. First, von Stalhein and the Russian officer knew each other; secondly, and more importantly, though the words had been welcoming, von Stalhein's tone had remained cold as ice. Even now, the look the German gave the other man did not hold much amenity.

«Who's your friend, Erich?» Biggles asked coolly.

«On a first name basis, are we?» the Russian commented. «That's a bad point for you, _Erich_. Very bad. But allow me to introduce myself, now that you are my prisoners. Andrei Nikolaievitch Nikolev, political officer. To whom do I have the honour?» Nikolev had the strange talent to make each and every word sound like a sneer, despite his affected politeness.

Algy hardly listened as Biggles answered, busy as he was calculating the distance between them and the Russian. But Nikolev was too far. By the time Algy got close enough to kick the gun out of his hand, he would have been shot three times. He needed to get closer...

«If you're quite done with the niceties, Andrei,» von Stalhein was saying sourly, «perhaps you would not mind untying me now.»

«Oh, no, I think not,» purred Nikolev, to Algy and Biggles' surprise. «I always suspected you were either a traitor, or incompetent, Erich. I still don't know which, but really it hardly matters. Either way, it is high time you met your fate. I have been waiting ten years for this, you know. You shouldn't have run with the blueprints. When the central office gets my report, I don't think they will have many warm feelings for you.»

Algy glanced at von Stalhein, who was livid but controlling himself admirably, as always.

«As to your British friends I'm sure we'll find some use for them. Hopefully in a gulag. Now, enough.»

Nikolev took a step forward and turned slowly around the room, keeping his gun always pointed at his prisoners, until he found himself near the hull and beside von Stalhein. He moved with the agility and silence of a cat; it was no wonder they had not heard his approach.

«Move forward, and remember; if one of you tries to bolt, I will do no distinctions and shoot at the nearest target. So if you value your friends' life, you will behave.»

That was their last chance, Algy thought with mounting despair. If they allowed Nikolev to lock them up, they would be done for; but the Russian was still too far from either him or Biggles, and the table was between them, so any attempt to attack him could not be anything but suicidal. And there was definitely not enough room for them to try and bolt, not with any reasonable chances of success.

«Move, I said!» Nikolev barked.

«Wait,» von Stalhein said. «Bigglesworth?»

«Yes?»

«Now!» As he spoke, von Stalhein viciously shoved Nikolev against the hull and the two men fell down in a mess of limbs. Once, Nikolev's gun barked, and Algy had to threw himself forward in an attempt to dodge the ricochet of the bullet. When he looked up, he saw that Biggles had jumped in the mêlée and was now trying to pin Nikolev down. Von Stalhein was more of a hindrance than help at this point, with his hands still tied behind his back, and Algy jumped to his feet to come to the rescue. Still weak and less brawny than the Russian, Biggles was beginning to lose the upper hand. The two men were now fighting for control of the gun. Darting a look around, Algy saw the webley still on the table, where he had left it. He had no time to think; he grabbed it and tried to get closer, almost stumbling over the chair Biggles had knocked down after von Stalhein had tackled Nikolev.

The Russian was holding the handle of the gun, and trying to aim at Biggles' head despite his opponent's efforts to push it aside.

«Let go of the gun, Nikolev!» Algy yelled.

The Russian hardly spared him a look. His bloodshot eyes were set on Biggles, and Algy was not even sure the man had heard him, or understood the words. He was about to repeat his warning, more forcefully, but he saw Nikolev's knuckles whiten and his index tense on the trigger. There was no time to think or hesitate, and later he would remember little more than a blur of action. He fired.

The bullet hit flesh, he heard it, though he could not be sure whose. For a moment, everything was still. Algy looked at the two bodies, the prone figure of Biggles over Nikolev, and for a horrible second he thought he had missed and killed his friend. But before he had time to do anything, Biggles had moved and stood up on shaky legs; Algy himself did not feel very calm, and as the tension of the moment left him he was almost trembling. He took a deep breath. A look at Nikolev convinced him that the Russian would never threaten them again. His unseeing blue eyes stared at the ceiling, with a look of wonder Algy had seen before all too often. The look of a man who had not seen death coming.

Biggles helped von Stalhein up, and the German looked unscathed as well, though his clothes were stained with Nikolev's blood.

«Thank you,» Biggles said quietly.

Von Stalhein scowled. «My life was also on the line. Nikolev made a mistake, when he threatened me.»

«Thanks all the same,» Biggles returned with a smile. «I don't suppose this means you're willing to help out with the radio?»

Before von Stalhein could answer, Algy interrupted them. «Hold on, Biggles. Do you hear this?»

«Hear wha...» Biggles trailed off as he, too, heard the familiar roar of a plane's engines. «I wonder who...» he began, then understanding dawned on his face, soon followed by worry. «Bertie and Ginger!» he gasped. «If they land...»

He did not need to finish; Algy understood the matter well enough. «Our friends from the east are still on the island,» he murmured. «Looks like we won't need the radio, in the end.»

«There's only one thing to do,» Biggles said grimly. «And there's not a moment to lose. We need to catch up with Ginger and Bertie first.»

«What about him?» Algy nodded towards von Stalhein.

Biggles shrugged. «I'm not sure that leaving him here with a dead political officer he wasn't friends with would be much of a favour, and we might still need him. Not to mention I don't really care to have you roaming around before we're off this island for good, von Stalhein. You're coming with us.»

Algy was about to protest - they really did not need to drag an unwilling prisoner with them while they hurried to get to Bertie and Ginger - and so was von Stalhein, who half-opened his mouth, but they both thought better of it.

«Quickly now,» added Biggles, «I want to see where they land.»


	16. Reunion

**Chapter 16 - Reunion  
><strong>

* * *

><p>Algy, closest to the door by half a step, was first up and he squinted up at the dark night hopefully. Biggles stood at his shoulder, von Stalhein securely trussed in front of them as, for a few moments, they searched the sky systematically.<p>

«There!» Algy touched Biggles' shoulder and pointed at the same time as his cousin did. A dark shape had obliterated the stars directly to their right, coming in low over where Algy judged the wreck of their plane to be.

«The idiots! They've no lights but engine running nonetheless.» Biggles poured scorn on his companions out of relief more than anything else, as Algy understood. «Those nasty little blighters that side of the island will have them in their sights by now, and there's no way for us to get...»

Suddenly von Stalhein shifted, pushing himself backwards in a clear attempt to knock the two men behind him over. They were saved by the thick railing around the hatch, though the bruises they sustained would make sleeping difficult. As they struggled back to equilibrium, Biggles' foot knocked against something made of thinner metal and he bent down to touch it.

Smiling slightly he picked it up to show it to Algy, whose hand was now firmly on von  
>Stalhein's shoulder. «What d'you make of this, old chap?»<p>

Algy inspected it and grinned, «It's an old signal lamp, like we used to use coming back from... Electric? Does it work?»

Biggles shrugged, «I'll need some light. Let me take it down a few rungs and I'll let you know.»

A few minutes later, having worked out the simple battery operated working of the lamp, Biggles resurfaced with it lit in his hand.

«Your Morse is faster than mine, Algy, so there you go. This switch here, you see. I'll take von Stalhein.» Dutifully, Algy crouched down and flicked it on-off-on-off-on-off in sets until he judged he must have Ginger's attention.

Carefully, he signalled, 'Biggles, Algy, here.' and waited, hoping the message would get through clearly.

* * *

><p>«Bertie! Turn a bit. There's someone signaling there.» Ginger's voice was high with excitement and Bertie did as he was told as Ginger got out paper and pencil from their customary pocket.<p>

«That's an old signal lamp they're using. Any chance it's our two?» Bertie was clearly just as interested, lowering the nose and preparing to use their own emergency lamp.

The message flickered across to them, too fast for Bertie to make out easily, and he glanced over at Ginger's scrawl. «Is it them?» he inquired, smiling at the positive reply.

«Or at least, it's in English and says it's them. I'll send them back something only they can answer...» Ginger thought for a moment, aware that even at just above stalling speed, they'd be circling for a while if most of his questions came through, long winded as they were.

Finally he settled for asking what his own christian name was, relaxing only when the answer was tapped through successfully.

«Ginger's tapping out pretty quickly, Biggles. Keep an eye on it will you?» Algy watched carefully, dots and dashes translating themselves in his mind as he smiled thoughtfully. A stroke of brilliance this, given their enemies could see and probably not understand, or at least not interfere.

«Why is he... ah. Smart kid, that one.» His momentary puzzlement over the 'security question' removed, Algy tapped back, hard on the heels of his answer, 'On sub. use light to land' And glanced at Biggles.

«Is there anything else you need to tell them? Hopefully we'll get them landed here instead of having to traipse over half the island looking for them. I've had enough walking and running for a year or two. We must be getting old.»

Biggles frowned. «I'm still not sure what to do with von Stalhein. We could take him with us, I suppose. Four of us and one of him are in our favour, and he must be nearly on his last legs as it is...»

They looked at each other, then at von Stalhein. «Unless you'll tell us where you put the documents ?» Biggles questioned again, with little hope of an answer.

Von Stalhein glared as best he could in the dark of pre-dawn. «I will not and I doubt you will find someone who could, either.»

Algy broke in smoothly, «We'll be taking you up to London, and from there we'll turn you over to the proper authorities. I'm sure they can deal with you easily.»

* * *

><p>«They've got themselves a submarine and that's whose lamp they're using.» Ginger relayed, «Give us some navy lights and we can go in and pick them. It won't take too long and we'll be back in time for dinner.»<p>

Bertie obligingly switched on the lights, showing their surrounding a little more clearly. «Just as well this one's coast-guard equipped,» he commented, reaching for the searchlight. «Keep a weather eye on that bally signal. Don't want to lose the thing once we really need it.»

Ginger grunted, «That'd be your fault for not marking it properly» but did as he was asked, tapping out, 'Relying on you for directions...» as they settled in for a turn and glide approach.

Suddenly there was a curious sound and Ginger looked down. What he saw made him wince and cry out in shock. «There are men down there shooting at us!»

Bertie, instinct kicking in, was already yawing right then left, twisting to escape their attackers. «This was supposed to be a picnic, a night time jaunt over to some island and returning for dinner. At the moment seems I'll be someone else's dinner,» he complained, pushing the throttle all the way, roaring over the ground and out to sea before turning sharply and throttling right back, coming in for a faster approach.

«I just hope they're ready to jump aboard,» worried Ginger. «My nerves are getting all tingly and jangly.»

* * *

><p>Von Stalhein laughed when the shots rang out, «You see it will not be as easy as your friends had supposed,» he all but crowed. «For still there are men nearer this side than that, and they will be racing in now. And you shall need to spend a lot of time taxiing and loading.»<p>

Algy frowned, squinting against the dazzling light now almost kissing the water. It changed as it slowly submerged, still coming towards them in little 'putt-putt' noises as Bertie peered to see them. Hastily, Algy switched the lamp on and directed it straight ahead, holding it up.

«Come on, Come on...» he realised he was talking out loud and hastily stopped, whistling a little as he shifted impatiently. This had all seemed so much more simple when they were seated - was it only a few days ago - in a plane, flying over the island and quartering it.

When did they start playing at being searchers, anyway? He wasn't brave enough to do that, having gone straight for the glory instead, as the last two wars...

Biggles coughed and instantly he peered back at the murky green light, showing more clearly than green and red wing lights where the incoming transport was. «Ready?» Biggles queried. Algy nodded, realising the question was as much to steady Biggles as it was to reassure Algy. Several things happened at once then, as if Biggles' single word had been the catalyst.

Shouts were heard from behind them as, presumably, the missing boat was communicated to all and some splashes followed. «It will take them at least a quarter of an hour to swim out here.» Biggles noted dispassionately, although some fire came in their direction as well, so presumably there were still some armed men on shore, and it could be assumed they would start using their brains soon.

Algy stopped himself from wondering if submarine crews considered themselves exempt from the old naval tradition of being unable to swim.

In the noise of shots and a sudden throaty roar from the machine, von Stalhein struggled and thrashed, again and again throwing one or both of the men against various handrails. The dark was more a hindrance then ever as Algy felt himself punched by a hand that was decidedly familiar, yelled, then was accused of punching Biggles moments later.

By this stage, Ginger was out on a float, calling for more light and, miraculously, more light appeared.

The sudden change dazzled them all and Biggles, the first to recover, threw himself at von Stalhein, still standing prepared to fight.

They would never work out what happened next. Perhaps Biggles had acted with more power than he intended, perhaps von Stalhein really was fagged out. Perhaps the sub had been subjected to inferior design. Whatever the reason, the two enemies were sent tumbling down the ladder onto the flat deck below.

Flat it may be, but it was dark and wet as well and no sooner were two thumps heard than there were ominous sounds of sliding bodies.

With a yelp Ginger was off the plane and onto the deck, where he, too, scrambled for footing for a moment before peering around.

Algy, just as shocked, carefully pulled the lamp down with him, passing it down to Ginger as he clambered down the ladder and searched the deck and, worriedly, the water.

Splashes directed them to the spot. On the other side to the plane, two drenched heads bobbed a few feet apart. Von Stalhein, clearly distinguishable, was bobbing under more and more frequently although Biggles, becoming aware of his plight, was moving towards him. Algy threw off his jacket and dove in.

It was cold, tropics notwithstanding, and he felt his breathing quicken as he stroked out towards the struggling pair. «I'm alright!» Biggles snapped, flailing somewhat unconvincingly, «I'm not the one with tied hands.»

Algy rolled his eyes dramatically and probed the glistening water for a clue. Where had von Stalhein disappeared to? Filled with an inexplicable dread - they had, after all, known each other for the better part of four decades - he dove and struggled to see anything in the darkness. He reached his hands out, sweeping them forwards and sideways, until his bursting lungs insisted he come up to breathe. Two deep breaths and he was down again, praying that this time he'd get lucky. It seemed, finally, that it was all going his way. His questing fingers gripped cloth and he came up spluttering, hauling a very bedraggled German up too. Once he was sure von Stalhein was breathing - and the indignant spluttering which occurred almost as soon as they were above the water left him in no doubt as to that - he tugged the German onto his back and set out in a steady side-stroke.

As he shook his head, getting hair and salt water out of his eyes, he realised there were some odd sounds coming from in front of him. Aware words were being shouted he paused mid stroke and almost dunked them both before he got his legs and arms co-ordinated enough to tread water. «What is it?» he hollered and it was with inestimable relief he heard Biggles shout back, «Squid. Coming towards you.»

Biggles, seeing Algy had von Stalhein by the neck had struggled back towards the U-boat, harshly telling Ginger to stay dry and get the light out of his eyes. A few minutes later, wet and cold, shivering slightly, he was helped up and passed a blanket from the back of the plane.

The first suggestion there was something wrong was given by Ginger's query and the shifting of the light onto a dark piece of water. Biggles had stiffened next to him, the swirl apparent now the surface was illuminated. It had been years since he and Algy had, along with Smyth, escaped from a similar creature with the help of some well-aimed explosives. No chance of that now, but he still snapped out to Bertie, «Get her fired up. Ginger, get in but keep the light on that creature.» For himself he pulled out the pistol and then tossed it, disappointed, into the aircraft. The dunking had mixed salt-water with fine dust and ruined the firing mechanism for the moment. «D'you have a gun on you?» Ginger nodded and passed one out from his belt.

Accepting it with a tired smile Biggles turned back to the drama unfolding in front of him. Algy, along with von Stalhein, was now a hundred feet away, if that, but progress was clearly slow and the squid - in its natural element and convinced of a fresh feast by all the thrashing made by converging parties - was speeding up a little, it's tentacles moving with some purpose.

Algy would have sighed at the news, had he energy and breath to do so. Squid. again? Anyone would think the squid had it in for him and Biggles. Ah well... adrenaline, the small amount which hadn't already been used in the last however many days, flickered through his limbs at the danger and he surged for a few more paces, panting to von Stalhein, «You could at least kick, you know. If that thing catches up with me I'll be dumping you and haring off to the plane.» Grumbling as much as he felt he could, the German gave a few kicks and Algy nodded a little. «Now keep that up. We're almost there.» Then, a little later, «Try not to splash so much,» as the black hulk, so small from the air, loomed up at him.

«Good Algy. Arms up.» Biggles settled down a safe distance from the edge, reaching out his hands, «Hurry along. Pass him up.»

Getting the German up was not easy and all the time Ginger's light was moving closer, indicating the danger they were in. Eventually Algy managed to surge up enough to propel von Stalhein to the lip of the deck. He was held there by Biggles' hand on his collar while Algy struggled aboard, then they both hauled him up.

The German was only half out of the water when Ginger called out, «He's a right kraken!» and a questing tentacle was seen exploring the side of the hull. Instantly Biggles dropped his hold on von Stalhein's shoulder and picked up the borrowed gun, shooting at the base of the tentacle, just visible.

In a swirl of deep blue, the squid disappeared for a moment and Algy continued hauling on the dead weight in his hands. The appearance of von Stalhein on deck and the squid occurred simultaneously, but escorting a man towards the waiting plane was hardly difficult and Biggles was standing calmly pumping lead into the squid.

From their previous encounters with squids, Algy knew as well as the others that Biggles had no hopes whatsoever to seriously wound the beast, though he could perhaps render it mad with pain. The best he could hope for was to convince the squid that it was more bother than it was worth to chase them. It did not seem to work too well, either; considering the relative size of the squid and of the bullets, Algy could not help but feel that to the creature, the gunshots stung hardly more than mosquito bites.

Confirming this impression, the squid all but ignored the gun and focused on the closer prey. Algy wasted no time watching it closing the distance between them, but he felt von Stalhein stumble under his grip. He had a mouthful of abuse ready for the German, but realized then that the end of a tentacle was grabbing his ankle. Von Stalhein kicked wildly at the thick, gum-like skin, and Algy thought he saw an expression of fear on his face, though he could not be sure. A sane reaction, though unexpected for the colder-than-ice German. Algy joined his kicks to von Stalhein's, and a moment later a well-aimed shot, courtesy of Biggles, made the limb uncoil and draw back.

Scrambling to his feet, Algy all but dragged his prisoner behind him. Given the opportunity to choose between the British and a hungry squid, there was no hesitation on von Stalhein's part, and he made no difficulties to run with Algy. In truth, they trotted more than they run on the slippery deck, but they had not far to go and a minute later Algy was climbing onboard the plane and hauling von Stalhein up after him. Ginger gave him a hand, for which he was grateful as despite his lean build the German was fairly heavy.

«We need to go,» he urged between coughs. He still had the bitter taste of sea water in his mouth. «If the squid grabs the machine...» he hardly needed to say more. Already the engines were roaring, and Algy assumed Bertie was the one piloting. It was a few minutes before the plane could gain some speed, and the next moments were filled with dread as they watched intently for any sign of the squid.

«I hope it goes for the sub,» Biggles said wearily. «I was tempted to try and sabotage it, but there was no time. Though on second thought I'll be just as happy to have these people back home as quickly as possible.»

«Honestly,» Algy said, «I couldn't care less.»

«Looks like we're off the hook,» observed Ginger. «We'd better close the hatch.» So they did, just in time as they were quickly gaining speed, and a moment later the plane's nose tilted up sharply as the machine rose in the air. Ginger opened a first-aid kit and began to check Biggles for injuries.

Algy ran a hand in his drenched hair and watched the other two in the dim light of the cabin. They all looked terrible, which was nothing new, though standing near Ginger as a way of comparison made it painfully obvious. They all had a thick stubble, though Biggles' was less noticeable because of his lighter hair colour. They cheeks were sunken and their complexions were varying shades of grey. A long shiver ran down Algy's spine. He had not had time before to realize how cold he was, but already Ginger was handing him a blanket. Biggles took another and draped it around von Stalhein's shoulders.

«Sorry,» he said, «but I don't trust you enough to free your hands, unless you gave me your word, which I am quite sure you won't.»

«I wouldn't trust him either way,» Ginger mumbled. That was the sort of thing Algy might have said only a few days ago, and he was surprised to realize that he actually disagreed. If anything, von Stalhein was a man of his word, which must be why he gave it so seldom.

«You know, it's no use,» added Biggles. «I know now where you hid the documents. Not far from the wreckage of the plane, right ?»

Von Stalhein showed no expression, but for a sneer. «You will have to do better than that, Bigglesworth.» But the sneer lacked sincerity; there was no real hostility behind it. Biggles must have felt it too, for he smiled wanly.

«That's good,» he said. Von Stalhein's obvious surprise matched Algy's. «By the way, what happened to your cigarette holder?»

Algy thought he saw the German pale ever so slightly, but it was hard to tell; both because von Stalhein was not the sort to show much feeling in the first place, and because he was so grey that a shade less could mean pretty much anything. Either way, he did not see why such an innocent question should elicit any kind of reaction at all.

«I lost it in the crash,» von Stalhein said, rather sourly.

«Of course.» Biggles had an odd smile.

At that point, Bertie looked up above his shoulder. «So where are we going, old boy?»

«Not very far,» said Biggles before either Algy or Ginger had time to say anything. «Listen, I need you to cut the engines and land as close to the crash as possible, and as far from our friends from the east as you can at the same time.»

Algy stared at him and wondered if he had hit his head at some point; but Biggles looked very sure of himself. Ginger looked equally astonished, but von Stalhein seemed rather alarmed, though he tried not to show it.

«Are you sure about that?» It was a credit to Bertie's faith in Biggles that he considered it at all. Algy and Ginger shared a helpless look.

«Yes, I'm sure,» Biggles confirmed. «Try and cut the engines if you can, so the people down there don't know where we're landing. They're going to be busy enough with the sub, and perhaps the squid.»

«It would be nice if the squid was on our side, for once,» Ginger stage-whispered.

«All right, I'll see what I can do,» Bertie called from the cockpit. He almost had to shout to be heard despite the roar of the engines, but a moment later he cut them and an eerie silence followed. For a moment, no one said anything. Finally, Biggles turned to face von Stalhein.

«If you want to make a deal, as you are so fond of, and help us, this is your last chance,» he said. «You could save us some time, but we can manage without you.»

Von Stalhein shook his head mutely.

«It's too bad,» Biggles said. «It's this intransigence of yours that put you in such an uncomfortable situation.»

«Would you make compromises if it was your country at stake?» von Stalhein asked bitterly.

«The point is, it is not your country at stake,» returned Biggles. «At some point, you stopped fighting for Germany, and started fighting against England. There is a big difference. Personally, I consider such an attitude to be self-destructive, but as they say, it's your funeral. I just find it unpleasant to see such a waste of your abilities.»

«I find it bothersome that you find it necessary to criticize my choice of employer each time we meet,» von Stalhein said with some heat. «You do not have me doing the same; I wish you would extend the same courtesy.»

«At least you care enough to find it bothersome. If I remind you of it so frequently, it is that I don't often have the occasion to compliment you on your choice of friends. But by all means, feel free to criticize my own loyalties - if you can.»

Von Stalhein pursed his lips. He obviously could find no faults with Biggles' allegiance to his country, not without displaying painfully blatant bad faith.

At this point Bertie had the plane gliding silently downwards, and as they had not had time to gain much height Algy assumed that they were going to land soon enough.

«We'd better get seated,» he observed. Landing without engines was not that difficult, not in normal weather conditions in any case, but the landing was bound to be a little rough, especially since the sea was not perfectly plane, though more elastic than the ground would be. Glancing outside, Algy noticed that Bertie had edged dangerously close to the coast, presumably to allow them easier access. The site of the crash, easily noticeable, was not very far from the shoreline, perhaps fifteen minutes though they would have to climb a steep, rocky slope.

The landing was softer than Algy had anticipated, and a credit to Bertie's skills as a pilot. The plane decelerated quite fast, and a moment later was motionless if not for the soft rocking of the waves.

«All right, I'll go with Algy,» Biggles said. «Ginger and Bertie, you wait here, keep the plane ready and keep an eye on friend Erich.»

«Hold on,» interrupted Ginger, at the same time as Bertie exclaimed, «Look here, old boy!»

Biggles raised a hand to silence them. «Listen, we know our surroundings, you don't. We have to go.»

«But one of us is more than enough to keep an eye on old von Stalhein,» protested Bertie. «Ginger or I could come along. Preferably I.»

Biggles shook his head. «I'd rather you both stayed. There isn't just Erich, but the others might come around. I expect not, but better safe than sorry. If that happens, you are to taxi a little further and we'll meet you higher up along the beach.»

Bertie looked as unhappy as Ginger, but they knew when they lost an argument. Von Stalhein had a calculating look that Algy found both familiar and chilling; obviously he was plotting, presumably to find a way out. On second thought, Algy was happy to think that Bertie and Ginger would remain together, though he could not see how von Stalhein could even hope to escape, tied up as he was.

«Enough time wasted,» concluded Biggles, «let's go.»

Algy followed him out and in the water with a slight shudder. They would have to swim ashore, but it was not far, and too shallow for another squid to attack them. Not to mention, it was unlikely they should meet twice a squid of that size in so short a span of time. Then again, Algy thought dryly, all in all it was unlikely they should meet such a beast even once, and that was at least the third time it happened.

They reached the beach in a few minutes and walked briskly towards the rocky slope. There were trees a little higher up, and further they would find the clearing with the remains of their machine. Algy wondered how Biggles could hope to find the documents, but he would find out quickly enough. As far as he was concerned, if Biggles thought he could, then he could.

Soon enough, Algy found himself panting. He probably ought to have felt tired, but he had been running on adrenaline for the past few hours. No doubt he would collapse as soon as they were safe, but for the time being he felt alert and awake. A rumbling of his stomach reminded him that they had had little to eat in the past few days, and he regretted not having asked Ginger for a sandwich while he could. Whenever they got back to a civilized place, he thought, he would start by going to the most expensive restaurant he could find, and then he would sleep for two or three days. No doubt von Stalhein would do the same thing, unless Biggles decided to hand him over to the proper authorities - which Algy was far from certain he would do. When all was said and done, the man had saved their lives more than once. Granted, they had, too, but it did not work like that.

«I wonder why von Stalhein is being so hard-headed about this,» Algy thought out loud as the fleeting idea crossed his mind. «He doesn't have much to gain be remaining silent.»

«He's hoping I'm bluffing,» Biggles said. «That, and he is a man of principles.»

Algy choked.

«I did not say a man of morals,» Biggles clarified. «I only mean that he has a few principles he will cling to even if the world goes to blazes around him. Blind loyalty is one of these principles - one that he pushed to a fault. Being true to his word is another.»

«For all the good it does him,» Algy mumbled.

«I did not say that, either,» acknowledged Biggles. «If we'd suggested to double cross the other people from the sub, he might not have minded so much, because he feels he owes them nothing, but giving up the documents is a direct betrayal.»

«If you're so sure of that, why did you ask him to?»

Biggles was silent for a moment, but Algy it was not due to the exertion, though they were both breathing heavily at this point.

«Because someday, he is going to realize that his grudge against England is not worth taking orders from those people east of Berlin. Sooner rather than later, hopefully. And when he does, I want him to have a way out.»

Algy pondered the idea. It made sense in a way, though he was not sure he could forgive as easily as Biggles all that von Stalhein had done in the course of his duty. But then...

«You enjoy it, don't you?» he asked in a low voice. «Being pitted against someone as clever and resourceful as you are.»

Biggles took the time to think about it before he answered, and Algy thought it was one of those questions Biggles would not give an answer to anyone but him, and perhaps Bertie and Ginger.

«I am not happy that I have to fight him, or anyone else for that matter. Just as I didn't enjoy having to kill enemy pilots during the first war. But the fight in itself, the game in it... yes, I suppose you could say I like it, and I like having von Stalhein as a sparring partner. After all this time, he's almost become a friend.»

Algy let out a brief laugh. «I can imagine his face if you said that in front of him.»

He heard, more than he saw, Biggles' smile when he answered. «I won't.»

«I feel the same way as you do, you know,» Algy added. «Well, not about von Stalhein, though I understand better your stand on that matter. But about the fight. It's taken me a long time to admit it to myself.» He laughed again. «At first I figured I was an awful person for enjoying it, and then I just stopped thinking about it altogether.»

«I know. We talked about it, at the time.»

«Really?» Algy was mildly surprised. «I don't remember.»

«You were drunk, I think.»

Above them, the clouds took on a pinkish hue, and in the west the sky was turning a clear gold colour, clearly announcing the rising of the sun to a new dawn. At least they were stumbling less, but light also meant less cover if they came across an enemy patrol. Still, Algy thought, they were probably busy taking back the sub, so there ought not be too much danger of an unplanned encounter before some time.

«Looks like we won't need the torch, after all,» Biggles commented.

«Better to bring it and not need it,» Algy pointed out. «By the way, just curious, but how do you intend to find those documents?»

«That's fairly easy,» said Biggles. «I would have thought of it earlier, had I been using my head.»

«Your head needed a rest,» Algy said firmly. «I won't hear recriminations about that."

Biggles gave him a quick, wry smile. «Well, back to the matter. Try to remember what happened right after the crash. My memory of it is a little hazy, but as much as I can recall you dragged me out of the wreck and von Stalhein pounded in on us hardly a minute later.»

Algy nodded, remembering bitterly that he had let himself be caught by surprise. Of course, dragging a half-conscious man out of a wrecked machine had been enough of a distraction at the time, so he was probably not to blame, but he had known von Stalhein was around. He just had not thought he would react so quickly.

«Yes, I remember, so what?»

«I figure the only time he had at his disposal to hide the documents was the time between the crash and when he captured us. That means he had only a few minutes at the most, perhaps only a few seconds, to find a suitable hiding place. The obvious conclusion to draw is that the documents have to be somewhere near the crash, somewhere he would have no trouble finding again if he was in a hurry. That's where the loss of his cigarette holder takes a new meaning.»

«He said he lost it in the crash,» protested Algy. «I find that easy enough to believe.»

«Yes, but I'm sure he lied.»

By then they had reached the site of the crash and had been walking around for a minute or two. Seeing the wreck again made Algy wince painfully. They had been lucky to escape it mostly unscathed.

«How do you figure that?»

«Frankly? It's just a guess.» Biggles was watching carefully around him. The clearing was mostly bare, with little in the way of vegetation. «But his reaction when I mentioned it tells me there's a good chance I'm right. He's an excellent actor, but I can tell he was uneasy.»

«All right, so...» Algy fell silent as a blink of light caught his left eye. «Hello, what's that?»

Biggles turned his head, saw it too, and knelt besides a medium-sized lump of rock. Kept in place with a smaller rock, it was the broken half of an amber cigarette holder.

«Let's see if we can turn this rock over,» instructed Biggles, obviously trying not to sound too hopeful.

They were easily able to turn over the rock, and found underneath what they were looking for; a package, wrapped in brown, oiled fabric, obviously intended to be waterproof. Algy did not try to hide the grin that spread on his face.

«Good guess about the cigarette holder,» he said. «Otherwise we could have spent quite a while looking for those documents, on such a rugged and rocky terrain.»

«Well, it made sense,» Biggles shrugged. «I figured Erich too would have needed a mark to remember where it was. He could not trust his memory, not when he hid it in a rush and in the dark.»

«Now that we have what we were looking for, we'd better hurry back to the plane, though. I think our friends from the east must be very cross with us right now.»

«Let's not tempt fate,» agreed Biggles.


	17. Missed Homerun

**Chapter 17 - Missed Homerun  
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They headed back to the beach, walking faster now that they were going down the slope instead of climbing up, and their spirits raised by their success. As well they did, for the moment they reached the shoreline, they saw a half-dozen people running towards them, still a fair way off but quickly getting closer. Algy and Biggles did not need to speak to know what to do; they hardly shared a glance before they broke into a run, and when they were waist-high in the ocean switched to a fast crawl. A minute or two later, they climbed again inside the plane.

«Thank goodness you're here,» Ginger gasped in relief. «I hesitated to use the signal pistol, I figured I didn't want to show our enemies where we were. We were just about to move the plane when you showed up. Von Stalhein escaped!»

«What? How?» Algy stared openmouthed at Ginger.

«Never mind that now,» cut in Biggles. «Let's take off, and fast!»

Bertie began to manoeuvre and the plane slowly started to move. Algy dropped more than he sat in one of the seats.

«What happened with von Stalhein?» he insisted.

Ginger looked very red, out of embarrassment or anger, Algy could not tell. Probably a little of both. «Well, I figured he wasn't much danger with his hands tied behind his back, so I wasn't really looking at him close. I was preoccupied by the situation... somehow, he got hold of some scissors that were in the first-aid kit - remember, we forgot to put it away - and he managed to free himself that way. Then he waited for the right moment to bolt. You know how devilishly quick he is. By the time I realized what happened, he was already making for the shore. I almost tried to shoot him, but I thought the noise would draw the attention of our enemies. I'd have gone after him, but I knew you could be back any minute and even if I caught up with him, I wasn't sure I'd have the upper hand.»

«You underestimated him,» Biggles said. He shrugged. «Well, you'll know better next time, I expect. It doesn't really matter anyway, I think I would have let him go.»

Algy could not keep back a laugh. «I think old Erich would prefer his daring escape to having been set free, anyway,» he observed, and was rewarded with a wan smile from Biggles.

By then the plane had gained enough speed to take off, and Algy relaxed back in his seat with the comforting feeling that the ordeal of the past few days was now over. «Where are we going, anyway? England?» he asked.

«No,» Ginger shook his head. «It's too far, we don't have enough fuel. It'll have to be Australia for the time being. We'll stop and refuel there, and you and Biggles can see a doctor...»

«Oh no,» Algy interrupted him. «Biggles will see a doctor, he's the one who was wounded. I, on the other hand, am going to find the most expensive restaurant of Sydney, or whatever city we're going to, and have a nine-course meal, like the Chinese.»

«What, the rest of us aren't invited?» Ginger said with mock hurt. «And here we bothered rescueing you. If I had known...»

«You would have come anyway.»

«Yes,» admitted Ginger, «I would have. I'm just soft-hearted that way.»

«Let him be, Ginger,» Biggles said very seriously, though small crinkles at the corners of his eyes betrayed his amusement. «He'll go to the most expensive restaurant in town. We'll go to the restaurant where they serve the best food. It isn't quite the same thing, you know.»

In the end, they went to neither restaurant, because the moment they were in their hotel room Algy and Biggles just collapsed on their beds, and there would have been no rousing them even if the apocalypse had arrived. Upon waking, they were informed by Bertie that they had slept a good fifteen hours, and it was now late evening. Ginger had gone out to bring back some food. After they had dinner, since it was quite late and Biggles and Algy were still tired, they just went back to bed.

Algy was up at seven the next morning, feeling incredibly refreshed after he had shaved and showered. He had not realized how tired he was.

«I think I'd like to take a day or two off,» Algy said while they were having breakfast (he had never thought before that eggs and bacon could taste so good).

«I think that's a good idea,» Biggles agreed.

«So do I,» put in Ginger. «I know we haven't been through the same thing, but the past few days have been more than a little stressful for Bertie and I. We didn't know where you were, or if you were still alive, though we would have kept searching of course... and... well, it was just difficult.»

«I don't think Raymond will refuse if we ask him,» Biggles said. «But that can wait until we get back to England.»

«We should be able to go today,» Bertie said. «We've had some difficulties with supplies before, since we aren't here in our official capacity, but I've arranged for our tanks to be refilled this morning. We can leave after lunch.»

They spent the rest of the morning taking a walk in town, then made their way to the airport. Algy noticed that Biggles looked increasingly uneasy, and was walking more and more quickly.

«What's the matter?»

«You didn't take the papers with you, did you?» Biggles asked.

«Well... no, I didn't,» Algy admitted. «By the time we got here, I was hardly awake at all.»

Ginger and Bertie exchanged a guilty look. They had not thought of it either.

«We were all tired,» Biggles said, probably more to make them feel better than because he did not blame himself. «Still, I wish we had not left incredibly important documents without surveillance for a whole day.»

They restrained themselves from running with difficulty, knowing it would make their passage towards their plane noted and, perhaps, trickier. Officials the world over have a nasty habit of chasing anything which runs on their turf and asking questions later. And they didn't know if the papers had been removed or not. After all, the rest of the crew were stuck with a submarine, and not a submarine spitfire, at that.

Never the less it was with some relief they sighted the plane, still intact and not surrounded by any people, official or not.

«Algy, will you check her over while I run through the start up here. Ginger, you and Bertie can file a plan as we do so.» Ginger nodded glumly but brightened when Bertie produced an almost completed one already. Paperwork was Bertie's area, not his.

A scant couple of minutes later Algy was back, a worried look on his face. «The papers are on board, Biggles, where we left them and still intact as far as I can work out. But there's something funny happening with the gears.»

Biggles' shoulders, which had slumped with relief at hearing of the papers, grew tense again as he got down and followed Algy around to the wheels. «What's up, then?»

They crouched together, Biggles noting with satisfaction the crinkling sound of papers tucked in an inside pocket. «We'll get off alright, but we'd be in for a bumpy landing. I'd say it's a good thing we left her locked up last night, and tightly. Whoever did this wasn't very high up, so couldn't get inside without raising suspicion. Yet they didn't want these getting through.»

Biggles nodded his agreement, fingers reaching to touch the near-broken wire. «Whoever did this is at the least an ack-emma, if not a pilot. That takes knowledge and skill, to sabotage, and note how the grease has been remixed so you can hardly see it.» He turned a quick puzzled face to Algy, «How did you notice it, by the way?»

Algy tried to look a little more modest. «I thought there was always a chance something could happen like this. After all, anyone could have seen us arrive and the radio was still intact on the sub – on a side note, we should have destroyed that blasted thing. Anyway, it was unlikely we'd arrived unnoticed. And as civilians...» He trailed off as the sounds of Bertie and Ginger came nearer. The door opened and they stepped out, still on the far side of the tarmac.

«She's amphibious,» he pointed out. «And there's four fairly decent pilots on board. This is all I could find wrong with her, and it would be enough to cause problems on landing, if we didn't know about it. The chances of there being anything else wrong are small.»

Biggles nodded reluctantly, «We do need to get these through, and I'm not entrusting them to the penny post. It wouldn't be particularly hard. Except, we aren't armed and it might get nasty.»

Algy shrugged, standing and shaking out his trouser knees, «Two world wars and various other little skirmishes, Biggles. We're unlikely to meet anything worse. I've long since resigned myself to dying peacefully in my bed.» Algy looked positively disgusted by the idea and Biggles had to smile.

«It does seem rather anticlimactic when you put it that way, doesn't it? Well, do you want to tell Bertie and Ginger or not?»

Algy thought for a moment. It would be better for their nerves if they didn't know, to be sure, but if he and Biggles were hurt and one of the other two tried to make an emergency landing, they could be in for another crash. «I'll tell them if things get hairy,» he promised. «Now have you completed your own checks?»

Biggles smiled and mock saluted as he sauntered towards the cockpit, «Of course, Flight-Instructor Lacey. Now tell those two to get a move on, I want to go flying.»

Dutifully, Algy ducked under the tail of the aircraft, signalling the two dawdling figures were to hurry up, which they did reluctantly. «Any problems?» he asked, on the point of sliding himself in next to Biggles. «Right as rain,» assured Bertie, as he strapped himself in for a quick take-off, checking his communication were in order. Ginger settled down on the other side, peering through the window before doing the same, next to the radio. «We're good to go, chief,» he called through to Biggles, who grunted and sent through a taxi-ing request.

«Golf-Romeo Whiskey Juliet, clear for take-off.»

«Clear, Golf-Romeo, Whiskey, Juliet.»

The engines roared briefly, meeting the pressure of the ground, then they were up and gaining height rapidly, Algy glancing behind to note with some satisfaction a single wheel spiral onto the field next to the runway. There was no call from tower and he supposed it had fallen on the blind side.

«We've lost it,» he informed Biggles, who merely nodded and held the wings level as they climbed, heading towards England.

«We thought we would,» Biggles said finally, after several minutes had passed. «So that's no real surprise.» Algy nodded and subsided, looking about him warily.

Time passed slowly enough as they churned through the air, switching to straight and level and keeping a sharp look out. Their flight back home was a long one, and wisely they opted to take as wide a detour from eastern Europe as possible, meaning they stopped for refueling in Argentina a first time, then Venezuela, and finally they began the last step of their journey to England.

«We're lucky, for once.» They had been flying for a good six hours and were getting noticeably closer to their destination when Algy said that and smiled, nodding at the cloud beginning to form.

Biggles called back to Ginger to keep a sharp eye on it, not wanting luck to turn against them. They subsided to silence again, companiably letting the trimmed elevator and even thermals do most of the work of flying for them.

Algy had been looking out around the cloud for a good twenty minutes and the water below them was opening up when Bertie spoke up. «I say, in the glory of getting off I didn't ask. We still have those papers, old boy?» Algy pulled them out of his jacket as he answered, «That we do. We hadn't been broken into at all.»

The gleeful snort which followed almost blew their eardrums as Bertie celebrated. Biggles put his hand out. «I'd like to look at them, if you don't mind taking the stick.» Algy nodded, passing them over and resting one hand negligently on the controls, shifting his feet to the rudder pedals and expanding his searching to cover both sides of the plane.

Biggles turned over pages impatiently, grumbling that they weren't in English, or at the least something recognisable, before hitting upon a couple of pages in German. When the rustling of pages stopped, Algy glanced over for a few seconds, craning to see what had arrested Biggles' interest.

A few diagrams, explained by labels and, the next page down, many paragraphs of thick, formal German. Algy raised an eyebrow, then, luckily, returned to searching the sky.

A few moments later, he spotted a small haze spot and squinted at it carefully before looking away and back again. «Aircraft, two o'clock. Can you see it, Bertie?»

Biggles glanced up from what he was looking at, a frown still in place from trying to decipher what the diagrams were portraying.

«Not yet, old bean, hang on a jiffy.» There were sounds of movement, discernable mainly from Ginger's complaints, then some settling in sounds as Bertie re-arranged the wires of his headset. «Oh yes, I spy it. Swanning around looking fairly innocent, wouldn't you say?»

Biggles grimaced. «If there's one thing flying has taught me it's to not trust any aircraft in the same sky as you, unless you took off with them. Keep looking at it Bertie.»

«Good - oh.» Bertie peered at the plane for long minutes, noting its changing position.

Algy was carefully moving them further south, towards land and a more dangerous landing, but away from the plane. At the same time, he climbed a few hundred feet, very gently.

«We'll be over land, soon.» Biggles pointed out, and Algy nodded, stopping his manoeuvring and adjusting the throttle to just above cruising speed. What with the winds and the amount of petrol on board they should be able to go faster but he was in no hurry to visit the plane, whatever it was, before he had to.

They settled in for another few minutes of silence, Biggles having folded the papers and tucked them securely inside his jacket pocket. «This is by far a better way of doing things,» Algy commented once, yawning a little as he thought with aching legs about walking for miles up hill, then down the same hill again.

Biggles had to agree, though his reply was lost to a curt, «Closing. She's a Catalina, like us.»

Algy nodded, glancing towards the plane. Two planes each travelling at over 125mph, on slightly different routes were likely to be in sight of each other soon.

«She's got a funny colour scheme,» called through Bertie, «Red white and blue, but with a triangular shape...» He trailed off as he sifted through the colour schemes he knew.

Ginger filled in for him, pleased to be able to do something useful other than keep watch on the other side. «From Iceland, aren't they? I didn't think we were that close to them.»

Biggles nodded, «Iceland. They shouldn't bother us, then.» He glanced across at Algy, sitting relaxed in his seat and holding his course casually, turning a little towards the other plane to acknowledge it. «So long as they know we're legit.»

The Catalina turned towards them as well and clearly sped up, though stayed below them. «So long as they're legit as well,» Algy grumped. «I wish we weren't civilians. Not having a gun is making me jumpy.»

Biggles grinned. «Didn't know you were so bloodthirsty.»

The Icelandic plane came a little closer, then turned away, seemingly contented with whatever it had seen. Algy huffed a little sigh of relief and turned a little more west, still wary of the land in sight on his left.

Ginger's voice, high and urgent, came through to them. «They're coming back from underneath. Guns out.»

They looked at each other, then Algy said, curtly, «Strap yourselves in and hold tight. Ginger, I need running commentary.»

«Will do, skipper.»

Biggles checked his own harness and planted his feet on the floor, well clear of the rudder pedals. His hands went to his knees, clear of the controls, and he nodded to Algy. «You have control.»

Algy grinned at the unnecessary formality, «I have control.» he acknowledged. «You two strapped in?» he inquired. «I think I'm going to stall her.»

Ginger nodded before he remembered to speak, and Bertie followed up with, «All secure back here, you know.»

They continued climbing, safe in the knowledge their ceiling was still several hundred feet above them. Ginger kept Algy informed with short sentences. «Coming up below, seven o'clock...» Algy held off until Ginger's high voice came through urgently, «They're firing! Not tracers,» and Algy snapped back, «Give me a distance, lad.»

Ginger breathed deeply, trying to keep the excitement and fright out of his voice. Algy sounded as though he were discussing dinner. «Five hundred feet...closing...they're going for the wing.»

Algy nodded at Biggles once, then steepened their angle of attack steadily. A few seconds later, stall warnings screaming, he heard the chatter of guns and pulled the nose back even more sharply, stalling and falling like a stone.

They fell for five hundred feet before he recovered, powering ahead and rocking a little, his nose still a little too high, recovering height.

Ginger breathed out slowly, Bertie's white-knuckle grip relaxed a little and Biggles said, «They'll come back.»

Algy shot him a withering look, then said, «What I don't understand is why they came up like that, all friendly. They would have got a better shot from where they were.»

Biggles shrugged. «They probably thought we would relax, thinking they'd left.»

They powered through the air for a few more minutes before Bertie called through, «They're back, chasing us through their own air space, I think. They'll be in range in about a minute, the swines.»

Algy grunted and edged further towards the land. «We just have to be careful not to get forced down,» he reminded Biggles.

Then Bertie informed them they were in range, though they knew that with the sixth sense developed decades ago over land not so far away from them now. Algy immediately started dodging, knowing it couldn't last forever but sure he had full tanks only three-quarters of an hour ago and hoping the Icelandic machine was on the end of its patrol.

For about ten minutes they flew thus, the Icelandic machine edging closer, losing a few bursts of ammunition occasionally and the British one ducking and weaving as needed, keeping away from the land and giving up on gaining any more height now.

«They're herding us,» Biggles pointed out, «but where, I don't know.»

Algy nodded, «Neither do I, unless it's just over land.»

After a few more elaborate feints, thankful he wasn't up against a more agile machine, he added, «I'm sick of this. I'm going to make a break for it.»

Biggles nodded, lips thinning as Algy pushed the nose forwards, losing three hundred feet in a few seconds, before banking steeply right, S-turning for a good mile then levelling out, rudders causing enough yaw to put off any aim.

Pale from the G- force, Ginger reported no sighting of the Catalina and Bertie seconded that.

«I'm not believing they'd just give up, not this close to their own patrol section, anyway,» Biggles mused. «Can't you make this go any faster?»

Algy wasn't surprised to hear the complaint. 195 was hardly top speed in what they were used to flying, although when they first started flying it was a speed to be dreamed about. «Ginger, can you go further aft? I'm not sure we've lost them.»

Ginger dutifully did as he was asked and reported that, indeed, they hadn't. «Bearing down from a few thousand feet. I don't think they've much ammo left, I think they want to...»

«Rake us, like a blasted garden,» Bertie finished, «I won't have that, by Jove no!»

Manfully, all garden jests were left alone by those in the front; instead Algy held his course doggedly. «When they're just before range, Ginger, hold on and let me know. Things might get hairy. I can see good old England over there.»

«Sure thing, skipper.» He glanced around for some handholds and planted himself firmly,

«How hairy?» Algy shrugged, the action clear in his voice, «Not too bad, but not exactly pleasant either. You should be fine standing.»

Ginger nodded, re-positioning his grip and measuring the distance between the two craft carefully. «You got about five seconds...three...two...» The whole craft flung over to the left, almost turning on its head, and Ginger had no breath for talking.

The steep side-slipped turned into a dive for English waters, with Algy saying to Biggles, «Could you call through to the coast guard? We'll ditch soon.»

Biggles forbore from asking how he was supposed to hold a sensible conversation while being flung about, merely pushing the transmit button and calling through for the appropriate listener. The welcome voice was heard by all four with a sigh of relief, even as Algy flung into a slow spin, shallow to save the wings which probably needed some TLC at this point.

«They're not firing!» Ginger was still determined to relay information. Algy held them there for another two turns, then pulled out, levelling out 500 feet over the waves, nose down, throttle full bore.

«We see you, Golf Romeo Whisky Juliet. Are you able to fly closer?»

Biggles glanced at Algy and received a nod in return. «Affirmative. We aren't equipped for a land-touchdown, however.»

Taken up with aiming for the welcome sight of the sea-base, the occupants of the plane forgot momentarily their assumption of safety, taking it for granted.

Then Bertie tempted fate. «Well, that's that then. Do we get a good meal here, since we missed out on one last time?»

Bertie's words could not have been more effective if they had been designed to bring bad luck on them. The very moment he said it, the other machine suddenly reappeared to their left, its machine-guns spitting fire. Algy felt the shock of the bullets hitting them, though none were aimed at the cockpit - or if they were, their enemy was a poor shot. He winced in sympathy with the Catalina when the plane shuddered and lost some altitude.

«They've hit the left prop,» said Biggles tightly.

Algy nodded without surprise. As an experienced flyer, he could tell just from the way the machine suddenly topped left, and from the whine of the engine, too.

«Can we make it?» Ginger asked. It was, indeed, the most important factor.

«No,» Biggles said, and his tone was definite. «It'll be hard enough to get her down gently.»

«Let's hope the Icelandic, whoever he really is, doesn't take us for a target again.»

«I doubt if he will,» Algy put in. «If he wanted us dead, he could have done that a number of times. No, I don't believe in coincidences. I'd be willing to bet ten pounds that he is after the papers.»

«I don't think anyone will take you up on that,» Biggles said, and despite the seriousness of the situation there was the shadow of a smile in his voice. «Keep yourselves strapped in,» he added grimly. «This is going to be rough.»

The catalina was quickly losing height, and Algy saw the tormented greyish mirror of the sea down below. He hoped it was not as unsettled as it looked from above. The other machine circled around them but did not attempt to hinder them or to fire again, to Algy's relief. He was not entirely surprised, though; if those people were after the papers, which seemed more than likely, they would not want to have them burn in the sky.

«Look at that!» that was Ginger, pointing excitedly at a dark spot somewhere under them.

«What?» Biggles squinted to see better, while fighting the nausea that submerged him due to their too fast descent. Algy did not even turn his head, too focused on the piloting.

«There, doesn't it look like a ship?»

Biggles gave up on squinting. «I'll trust the sharp eyes of youth. Think that is the reason why they were herding us this way ?»

«That's very possible, old chap,» Bertie murmured beside him. «But there's not much we can do about it, is there?»

«Hang tight,» Algy cut sharply.

The sea was now disturbingly close, no more than fifty to a hundred feet, and Algy hunched his shoulders slightly in preparation of the shock that could not wait to come. He counted the seconds in his head; he had not reached ten before the crash came.


	18. In Enemy Hands

**Chapter 18 - In Enemy Hands  
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It was not as bad as he had anticipated. The elastic surface of the water broke their momentum somewhat, and though they were seriously shaken, the machine did not seem to break, nor did it begin to sink. Algy remained strapped in his seat for a few seconds after they had stopped moving, head reeling, then he looked around by reflex to check on the others. No one appeared to be injured.

«Every one all right?»

They all confirmed it, and Algy's mind switched automatically on to the second most pressing matter. «Where is that ship Ginger spotted?»

«A half-mile in front of us,» Ginger said. He had already left his seat and was watching anxiously out the cockpit. «Getting closer pretty fast, too.»

Algy looked for Biggles' eyes and caught them easily. «So what now?» he asked, eager for a plan.

He was to be disappointed. «Nothing,» was Biggles' quiet answer. He saw Algy's incredulous look and shrugged. «What do you expect us to do? We have no weapons, we cannot dream of outrunning this ship, and we can't take off even if our left prop was still in working order. Resisting capture will only get us hurt or killed, without accomplishing much.»

«What about the papers then?» interrupted Bertie.

Biggles slapped his forehead. «I had forgotten about that. You're right, we can do something about that. Either destroy them, but I'm loathe to do that - or hide them.»

«Why don't you want to destroy them?» Ginger asked, looking bewildered. «People have been perfectly happy without those around, and I daresay they would for a while longer.»

«That's assuming there aren't other copies going around,» Biggles pointed out. «You know how the Germans are, or the Soviets for that matter - they do everything in triplicate, and we don't know how they were planning to modify these blueprints. The version we have may hold critical intelligence on the development of a prototype, for instance.»

Algy nodded thoughtfully. He had not thought of it either, but... «Hide it?» he repeated. «That may be too great a risk. Knowing these people, they'll take the plane apart.»

«But they may not have the time, nor the tools. Taking apart a plane on the ground is one thing; on the sea, it's different. And the weather does not look like it's improving. At least it'll allow us to stall.»

«Then you'd better hurry,» said Ginger crisply. «They're getting close.»

Algy looked around, but he could not think of a good enough hiding plane. «Under the seats» would hardly qualify, and that was the best that had come through his mind yet. But Biggles must have something in mind, based on the small smile that pulled the corner of his lips.

«Wait here,» he said. «I have an idea.»

He left the cockpit for the back of the plane, and Algy focused again on the approaching ship. It looked like a cargo, from what he could see through the rising mist, but there was something off. Algy was no seaman, but he thought the ship seemed a little too light on the water, that it turned a tad too sharply when it manoeuvred starboard. _If that ship is a cargo_, Algy thought, _then our plane is a spitfire_. He wanted to take a gun and give these crooks the welcoming they deserved, but as Biggles said - there was nothing to it.

He tried to get rid of the itch in his fingers by rubbing his hand on his leg. Looking down as he did so, he noticed the kit that lay discarded on the ground, having been thrown forward in the cabin from their rough landing, and a smile slowly formed on his lips. He seized the corner of the kit and dragged it closer before rummaging through it. Finally satisfied, he withdrew a swiss army knife and slipped it in the inside pocket of his jacket.

The cargoship had stopped, and a handful of men began putting a dinghy to the sea. Algy shared a glum look with Bertie and Ginger, as Biggles just got back to the cockpit.

«Here we are, they can keep looking for a while before they find it.»

«That won't do us much good when we're their prisoners, old boy,» Bertie mumbled.

«Quite the contrary,» Biggles said. «That's my other reason for hiding the documents rather than burning them. So long as they don't have them, they won't dare harm us. I don't think Erich would in any case, but he may not have control over these people.»

Bertie and Ginger said nothing, but their expressions made it clear they did not have the same trust as Biggles in von Stalhein's inherent goodness. Biggles saw it too, but he pretended not to.

Six men had taken places in the dinghy and were rowing at a fast pace toward the Catalina. They all had weapons, and made no pretense of being friendly when they hit the hull of the plane with the stock of their guns. The meaning was clear; _get out, or we'll make you_.

«There's no call to be rude,» Biggles observed. «Let's greet our hosts.»

Considerably less cheerful, Algy moved to obey. The moment they were let inside, the intruders pointed their guns at the British and moved so as to keep their aim without risking injury to their comrades. Yes, comrades must be the right word, Algy recognized their quick efficiency as that of soldiers - and their nationality was not difficult to guess. It did not come as a shock when their leader spoke in a language Algy recognized as Russian; the guttural vowels and harsh consonants were hard to miss.

When none of the Britons moved, the man had a frown of impatience and gestured them outside. As they had agreed, there was no attempt at escape - any attempt was doomed to failure at best. Algy caught a whiff of gasoline, soon replaced by the salty smell of the sea, as he climbed onto the floats and jumped into the dinghy. Now that their prisoners were under control, weaponless and defenseless, the group of soldiers were considerably less tense. They exchanged a few words, perhaps a joke when some of them laughed, quickly rebuked by their officer.

As they got closer, they could see the name of the ship, painted in capital letters on its hull. It read «SVENSKA HEKTOR", but the hasty paint job was painfully obvious and the old name could still be deciphered underneath : Туман. Algy was not sure how it was supposed to be pronounced - he could not read Cyrillic.

«I don't suppose any of you chaps would care to tell us what you intend to do with us?» tried Bertie, but it appeared the soldiers either did not speak English, or had no interest in answering. Further attempts only entitled them to a sharp rebuke in Russian, which they could not understand but obviously meant «_shut up_».

The dinghy reached the side of the cargo. A long, narrow rope ladder dangled down the metallic hull, which the prisoners climbed without difficulty, then were searched quickly - and perfunctorily, Algy thought as his knife escaped the search. A slight rain had begun to fall, making the deck slippery. From there, they were escorted to the front deck of the cargo, where three people were obviously waiting for them. One of them was a familiar figure, one that Algy had expected to see all along.

«I'm afraid I was not able to say goodbye last time we were in each other's company,» said Erich von Stalhein. «I'm glad I have the occasion to rectify that.»

«There was no need to go to that much trouble,» Biggles answered wryly.

Of the two other men, one was doubtlessly the skipper of the ship. Shorter than average and stocky in build, he looked at the prisoners with a vague curiosity that led Algy to think he was not much interested in the whole affair, one way or the other. The third man was tall and wiry, with sharp, narrow features and an aquiline nose. The uniform he wore must be at least a major's or a colonel's, which meant he probably outranked von Stalhein.

«Allow me to introduce captain Zastupnevitch,» the skipper nodded quickly when he heard his name, «and _polkovnik_... colonel Karutchev.» The colonel gave them a standard military salute, then spoke in Russian to the soldiers who had escorted the British. A quick conversation ensued, which resulted in Karutchev looking quite angry. He snapped an order and a surge of activity followed. Turning around, Algy realized that they were going back to the dinghy. Presumably, they had been ordered to go back to the plane and look for the documents.

«Where are the documents?» asked von Stalhein. His tone of voice made it clear he did not really expect an answer, but felt obliged to ask anyway.

«Come now, Erich,» Biggles smiled.

Von Stalhein did not return the smile. In fact, he looked very grim, and Algy felt an uneasy feeling burn in his stomach.

«I could threaten to shoot one of your men if you refuse to tell me.»

«No, you won't.» Biggles lost his smile. «You see, only one of us knows where the documents are - and I am not telling you who it is. If you kill any one of us, you're taking the risk to lose the information.»

Von Stalhein looked oddly halfway between angry and relieved. «We don't need you to find them,» he pointed out, somewhat unnecessarily.

«Yes, you do. But if you want to try and take apart the Catalina, be my guest.»

Karutchev looked somewhat irritated, and he snapped something in Russian. It appeared von Stalhein was the only one fluent in English, which explained his presence. And perhaps his damn pride made him want to win - if only once - over Biggles. Von Stalhein answered in the same language, and after a short discussion, looked back at the prisoners.

«You will be taken to a cabin while we are searching the Catalina. I would advise you against any attempt at escape. The men will not hesitate to shoot.» The German shook his head. «I do wish you would make things easier for all of us.»

«The moment you hold these papers will be our death warrant,» said Biggles bitterly. «You can hardly be surprised that we are unwilling to cooperate.»

Algy thought he saw a shadow of uncertainty on von Stalhein's face before they were taken away to an unoccupied cabin, where the door was promptly locked behind them.

«I hate to be depressing,» Algy muttered, as they tried to settle themselves comfortably, «But Erich knows us too well. He'll guess that you know the place of the papers.» Biggles shot him a look and leant his head nearer to whisper, «But he won't know.» He grinned a little before turning to explore their surroundings with more than the cursory glance they had first given them.

«I say old chap, I'm all for escaping and the like, but if you think you'll get me through a gap that size you're dead wrong. I'm not a bally octopus, no sir, nor a whippet, either.» Bertie frowned at Biggles' interested probing of the well-secured porthole and went to try the door handle instead.

Ginger glanced up and saw the way Biggles was looking at him. «It wasn't me, chief, whatever it was. I swear.» Biggles shook his head, «guilty conscience, hey? Bertie has given me an idea. Go and stand next to Algy, so I can see you both.»

Dutifully Ginger stood, dragging Algy up next to him. Biggles walked around them both like a judge, measuring them with his eye. «It's no use, Algy; we'll simply have to cast him out. Look, he's podgier than you are!» Given Algy was hardly well-fed, this was perhaps not hard, but they chose to play along.

«It's these good looks you see,» Ginger tried, «They all want to take me out, mother me a bit.»

Algy rolled his eyes, «Seems we got ourselves a changeling, instead of a real boy. I'll talk to Mrs. Symes when we get back, put a lock on the larder.»

«So long as one of you is small enough to fit through there, should it be necessary, I don't mind what you do,» Biggles pronounced.

«But I say old chap, you can't go around breaking glass and sending people through it, by Jove! They'll get cut and make a jolly old mess for someone to clean up, you know.» Bertie was watching the proceedings as if he couldn't quite believe his eyes.

Algy dropped back to the bunk he'd been occupying, scrabbling in his trousers. «It so happens...» he began, when there was a knocking at the door.

Hastily they re-aligned themselves in attitudes of relaxation, all but ignoring the surly looking guard who appeared.

He seemed to find it hard to speak even Russian, grunting at them and making it clear they were to march in front of him, up the companion way. Briskly they did so, wondering for what purpose.

«Shall we make a break for it?» whispered Ginger, on reaching the deck and spying the Catalina almost along side. Biggles shook his head carefully. «Not yet. We don't know how many of them there are and they must have brought us up here for a reason.»

For their trouble they received a stern dressing down as a handy NCO shouted at them. The words were foreign but the meaning was fairly easy to guess - _play any tricks and you'll be shot_. Biggles reflected that von Stalhein clearly didn't have as much power as he once did, for he wouldn't countenance the violence.

* * *

><p>They stood on deck for less than five minutes before three figures appeared from the Catalina, von Stalhein and two soldiers who had clearly been helping him search.<p>

He ignored them for a while, talking to the NCO who had dressed them down. Finally he turned to them, switching to English. «There's someone on the radio for you, Bigglesworth. You will come across while Karutchev prepares the rest of your friends for questioning.» He instilled the word friends with a slight sneer, though not as much as he would have done had they not recently spent some days being friends, or at least partners in survival.

Biggles hesitated, unwilling to leave the other three alone with Karutchev, but he didn't really have a choice. «He can't possibly question us until Erich comes back with you.» Algy pointed out, reasonably, «He doesn't speak English, remember?»

It hardly made him feel any better. There were lots of things Karutchev could do without actually asking them anything. However a firm grip on his elbow had him propelled to the Catalina, made fast to the railing.

«You did not mention you had called the coastguard,» von Stalhein said.

Biggles shrugged, only remembering the fact then himself though not willing to show it. «You didn't ask.»

With a curt gesture, the NCO pushed Biggles into the plane, following the two soldiers, then left, as von Stalhein stepped in. «They want to know your exact location and if you do not tell them will be launching a full SAR response.»

Biggles' lip curled. «So you think I'm going to tell them where we are? Why don't you tell them yourself?»

Erich glanced at the radio, a tangled mass of wires and a purposefully destroyed headset. «Because although this device can still receive, it appears unable to broadcast. Like you earlier in the week, I am unfamiliar with this model and am willing to offer a compromise.»

Biggles frowned, looking at the tangle. «It wasn't like this when we left her. It was destroyed while under your care and, as such, is not only your problem to fix, but also to reimburse me for.»

Von Stalhein's lips thinned, «Be that as it may, and I can assure you that this whole diplomatic saga will be dealt with by the right channels on our side, we now face the problem of the coastguard coming. I need hardly tell you that if they do, and should they succeed in finding this position, you will be in a hostage situation and no closer to being able to retrieve the papers.»

Biggles shrugged. «That's hardly going to induce me to help you, is it? If they go down it's better for all concerned, is it not?»

Von Stalhein shrugged back. «And if you go down with them it's better for all concerned too?» he questioned slyly.

Biggles smiled, «It's the way of the Englishmen to put duty before himself, you see. Not unlike the Germans.»

«I am willing to give you a fighting chance,» began von Stalhein, «if you will let the Coastguard know you have been met by a vessel and therefore require no assistance, then I can assure you no harm will come to you. I shall arrange for you to be dropped on English soil, unmolested.»

«And if I don't, what will you do?»

«If you don't, I will do nothing to you. I will instead do my duty, translating for Karutchev as he questions your fellows and then you. He is...most persuasive. And I shall arrange for the Coastguard to not reach this spot. Do you know how many family men there are in the Coastguard patrols, these days?» von Stalhein spoke coolly, watching Biggles' reaction closely.

«You understand I couldn't make a decision for the four of us on my own,» he said at last. It was more to get off the damaged aircraft and to think for a few minutes than because he had any thought of accepting the offer, and von Stalhein realised it, probably. However he could not argue the point either, and sent the two soldiers on again, following after Biggles.

They did not speak until they were back on board and then it was only for von Stalhein to inform him the same two soldiers would see him down to a cabin set aside for Karutchev to 'work' in. Biggles nodded, prevaricating as much as he dared. The longer they spent not on the radio, the more chance they had of Coastguard finding them. Though he had no wish to be caught in the crossfire.

Turning over various options, he followed without thinking, coming back to the present with a nasty jolt, seeing Bertie and Ginger standing stiffly against the wall in a larger, sparse, cabin. His eyes only flickered over those two however, lighting instead on the two figures in the centre of the room.

Karutchev, using his height to advantage, was looming, or attempting to loom, over a figure in a chair. A very familiar figure.

Memories of hot, noisy nights, of dark-skinned malayans and a film-loving, pidgin speaking, second in command filled his head for a moment and he shook them off with difficulty. Shoved into the corner he questioned Ginger out of the corner of his mouth. «How long have they been going at it?» Ginger shrugged. «Not too long, just the time you've been away. Tenty minutes, maybe? I think he's waiting for von Stalhein but wanted to steal a march.»

Biggles nodded, transfixed by the slow rise of pink, no doubt caused by the exertion of trying to find a break in the placid, somewhat amused, somewhat surprised, face in front of him.

«Algy hasn't said anything yet, apart from a little bit at the begining, when he tried French and German on the man. They chatted away in that for a bit, but they've been like this for a while now.»

Biggles nodded. «We've a problem.» he added, shifting a little to tell Bertie as well.

Briefly, he recounted what had happened on the Catalina. «I don't want to see innocent men killed,» he finished, «but neither do I want to see those papers found. I won't tell you where they are, but they'll be found once they take the Catalina apart piece by piece, I assure you. We have to keep them on the sea, at least. Now, we want to get to a radio, to tell those Coastguarders we're fine. If we can manage to get a message through that we want to send a squadron over...I'm not adverse to this whole ship being sunk, so long as we knew we could get out of it.»

Bertie opened his mouth to say something when the door opened and von Stalhein entered. He walked straight up to Karutchev and stood a little way to one side, clearly seen. Algy turned to look at him and raised a sardonic smirk, but said nothing. Von Stalhein spoke rapidly, but deferentially, to Karutchev and received a curt nod in reply. Turning to the other four present (the soldiers, having deposited Biggles, had departed) he translated. «You will be allowed five minutes in you room to decide which course of action to take. That is all.» He glanced again at Algy and Algy would swear, later, that he seemed almost - very nearly - sorry he couldn't do more.

Having been put off for a further few minutes, Karutchev seemed in a hurry to get rid of them and they were bundled into the cell with all haste.

* * *

><p>«Give us the gen,» Algy offered, reclining again on the bunk and looking at Biggles. Briefly, he did so, and instantly afterwards Algy burst out with, «As soon as we get back I'm finding myself a little radio set I can carry with me. So I suppose one or two of us go and find a radio and transmit, while the others wreck havoc?»<p>

Biggles nodded. «That was the general thought, yes. I shall go to the Catalina and get the papers. Ginger, as our most radio-savvy, you can take Bertie and send the message.»

They nodded, though Bertie seemed to have some misgivings, mainly along the lines of wanting a gun. «I'm not a wrestler and I never shall be. Give me a nice hunting-piece any day of the week.»

«Aww, give over. We can't have nice hunting pieces and a problem like this all at once,» Ginger drawled. «Though we'll keep an eye out for them.»

«So shall we go now, or wait till they come to pick us up?» Algy enquired dutifully.

«What's all this we about?» Biggles asked. «You'll be standing by.»

Algy snorted, pulling out the pocket knife and setting to work on the nuts holding the porthole-cover in palce. «By Icarus' anti-clockwise propeller I will be. I'm the only one who can get out the window, remember?»

Biggles threw up his hands with a half fond, half exasperated look. «It's a wonder we ever get anything done, with you undermining authority all the time. By the way, where did you get that?»

«From the Catalina, before we left her. Thought it might come in handy.» He'd already loosened one nut, held in place now by half a revolution.

«Wait,» Biggles stopped him. «They'll be back in five minutes' time. We'll need more of a headstart than that if we're to succeed in our endeavour. Besides, it's already late afternoon, we'd better wait until it is darker.»

«Time is playing against us, old boy,» cautioned Bertie. «What if they find the papers in the meantime?»

«That's a risk,» Biggles acknowledged. «But I'm confident they're well hidden, and rushing into action will not help.»

«So what about the Coastguard?» asked Ginger.

Biggles seemed to have had time to ponder the matter. «I'll agree to von Stalhein's terms,» he said without hesitation.

Algy's eyes widened in surprise. Not that he disagreed - the arrival of the Coastguard could be as much of a disaster as an opportunity - but it must be the first time that Biggles actually seemed to mean to accept one of von Stalhein's deals without another devious plan in mind. The absurd thought fleeted through his head that it would make von Stalhein very happy.

«Are you sure about that?» Bertie asked. He must be quite uncomfortable, to be questioning Biggles like this. «I mean, once you do that, we're on our own.»

Ginger shrugged, eyes shining. He must be imagining himself in one of those American pictures he was so fond of. «So what's new?»

«Besides,» Algy took on himself to explain, «if we did not agree they might try to tow the plane out of territorial waters. They might not succeed, which is probably why they haven't tried it yet, but if they did, the moment they reached the international zone it would all be over. I wouldn't be surprised if there was a sub or two cruising not so far from here, and not British ones. We couldn't risk a major incident to get those papers back, so that would be it.»

«And even if the Coastguard came and found us,» Biggles added, «as von Stalhein pointed out to me, we'd end up in a hostage situation, which would not resolve anything, quite the contrary. No, refusing to comply would only put more lives in danger, and not help us much.»

«Fine, fine, old chap, you're right as usual.» Bertie shrugged. «I was just saying, really. Hadn't quite seen the situation this way.»

«So, about the...» began Algy, but he had no time to finish before a key rattled in the keyhole and the door was thrust open by an over eager guard. Von Stalhein's figure appeared at the threshold.

«I trust you have had time to come to a decision, gentlemen?» he asked politely.

Ever since their arrival on the ship, he had behaved with an aloof formality. Algy wondered if that was because he was embarrassed after what had happened on the island, or for another, yet to be determined reason. Most likely, the German was not eager to appear too friendly with British prisoners under the watchful eye of a superior.

«Yes, as it happens, we have,» Biggles returned impassively. «I agree to contact the Coastguard, under your terms.»

A flash of surprise shone in von Stalhein's eyes, immediately followed by keen suspicion. «I am... very glad to hear that,» he said slowly.

Algy could almost see the wheels turning in his brain as the German tried to think of every contingency that could arise, and obviously finding none that the prisoners could exploit – none that he could not provision for.

«Shall we, then?» Biggles asked mildly. «I assume our friends of the Coastguard must be getting somewhat impatient.»

«Of course,» said von Stalhein, and he took a step back to allow Biggles through, though he still looked mistrustful. A sharp order was given, and the door closed behind the two men, leaving Algy, Bertie and Ginger on their own. They had nothing to do but wait for Biggles' return, for they would need for him to be present in order to devise a plan. Algy sat down on one of the bunks and touched his pocket lightly to feel the reassuring, hard shape of the knife through the fabric. With a bit of luck, they still could get through.

* * *

><p>Biggles followed von Stalhein's brisk footsteps in the coursive, then on the deck where the cold, moisty breeze of the sea greeted him. Two guards were walking right behind him, but their weapons were shouldered. Obviously they considered their superior numbers to be enough protection against anything the prisoner might try - and they were right, there was not much he could do. Von Stalhein was still watching him closely - he had learnt the hard way never to underestimate an enemy, no matter what the odds.<p>

«Can these chaps speak English?» Biggles asked, referring to the guards.

«No,» said von Stalhein. He paused slightly before adding, «not that I know of.» The hesitation spoke volumes to Biggles. He knew enough about life beyond the Iron Curtain to understand what it meant; one of these guards could very well speak English while pretending not to, so he could spy on the prisoners - and maybe, on von Stalhein himself.

And von Stalhein had issued Biggles as clear a warning as he could. Why, wondered Biggles. So that he knew not to speak of what happened on the island?

«By the way...» he began, but was interrupted sharply by one of the guards, speaking Russian. Biggles was beginning to find it increasingly bothersome to be constantly interrupted.

«Хватит,» von Stalhein said, very curtly. «Он может говорить.» That was what it sounded like, and though he did not know the words, Biggles could infer from the guard's backing down that he had been granted permission to talk.

«As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, what's the name of the ship that supposedly rescued me? The Coastguard will probably want to know that.»

By then they had reached the ship's rail, and one of the guards started to climb down first.

«Your rescuer is the Swedish cargo Svenska Hektor,» von Stalhein answered without hesitation, having obviously foreseen the question. «Its skipper's name is Anders Lundqvist, should you need it.»

Biggles nodded and got ready to climb down as well, but von Stalhein's steel-like grip stopped him. The German looked him squarely in the eyes. «You might be tempted to do something foolish, and somehow signal the Coastguard that you need assistance other than they can provide themselves. Rest assured I will know if you do, and you will not like the result.»

The words may have sounded like a threat, but Biggles saw genuine concern in the cold blue eyes that bore into his. «The thought never crossed my mind,» he said lightly.

Von Stalhein hardly seemed convinced, but he released his grip all the same and followed Biggles swiftly down to the dinghy, and from there to the Catalina. Biggles sat down in the radio seat, in front of the damaged machine. Von Stalhein appropriated one half of the conveniently destroyed headset, giving the other half to his prisoner. A persistant signal was being broadcasted in morse code.

«...repeat, state your current position. Help will soon be on the way. Catalina...»

Biggles felt his blood turn cold. He hoped he had not stalled too long, and that it was not too late to stop the Coastguard from coming. It would be quite ironic, if his own strategy worked against him, and it would also have unpleasant consequences. With a swiftness born from habit, he operated the radio, checking the broadcasting frequency and boosting the signal to its maximum.

«Coastguard, this is James Bigglesworth from downed Catalina, do you read?» he sent, relieved to find that his morse was still up to date.

There was a slight pause at the other end before they responded, much to Biggles' relief. He had feared the radio was too badly damaged to reach far enough. He sent the reassurance that von Stalhein had requested of him, that they did not need assistance. Even as he worked on it, he saw the German's lips move slightly as he translated in his head the meaning of the dots and slashes. He was really not taking any chances.

«Satisfied?» Biggles asked once he had put down his half of the headset.

Von Stalhein watched him carefully, and seemed pleased to detect no irony in Biggles' countenance. «There is little in this whole matter that I find satisfying,» he said, with more straightforward honesty than Biggles had come to expect of him, «but you have held your side of the bargain, and so shall I do mine.»

«Yes,» Biggles said slowly. «You have committed yourself quite extensively. After all, it is colonel Karutchev who is in command, not you. Or does he know exactly what you have promised in return for my cooperation?»

«I have given you my word,» said von Stalhein, impassive. «You need not trouble yourself beyond that.»

Biggles glanced at him, surprised. He knew he could trust the man's word of honour, if nothing else, but that could put him in quite an awkward position with regards to his superior. Von Stalhein, however, appeared in no mood to make confidences about his intentions, and had Biggles briskly escorted back to his cell. He stopped only at the door, and turned his head back to meet Biggles' eyes.

«I assume you still refuse to tell us where the papers are.»

Biggles had a nonchalant smile. «I know you're asking only for thoroughness' sake.»

«Very well. You may call the guard if you change your mind, as you might want to. It would make things easier for you if you told us before we found the documents by ourselves.»

Biggles shrugged. «Would you give in, if you were in my place? Allow me to be at least as stubborn as you would be yourself, in a similar situation.»

Von Stalhein said nothing more and the door of the cabin was opened, only to be closed just as swiftly once Biggles was inside.

«You've been awfully long,» said Ginger, who had been sitting on one of the bunks.

Biggles could see the orange light of the sunset through the porthole. Were he in another situation, he would have been enjoying the sight, but at this moment he had more urgent things on his mind.

«Yes, well, that's one thing taken care of,» he answered distractedly, eyes roaming the cabin for Algy. He found him lying on another of the bunks, eyes closed. Asleep.

Bertie shook him lightly and he opened foggy eyes with a groan. «What, morning already?»

«I'm afraid so, sunshine,» Bertie grinned. «Did you have nice dreams?»

«No,» Algy grumbled as he sat up. «I dreamt we were flying in a plane and then shot down and captured by von Stalhein and his friends.»

Bertie put on a puzzled expression. «Now why would you have such a dream?» he wondered out loud. «Are you sure you're all right in the head?»

«Very funny. All right, so what's the plan?»

Biggles hesitated, unhappy. It was true that the whole motion depended on Algy's ability to escape the cabin, and at the same time he was reluctant to put his friend through that. Yet, he did not have much choice. The alternatives were worse.

«Here's what we can do,» he said slowly. «Algy, you escape through the porthole. The hard part will be then to find a way to open the door for us. I cannot give you any advice as to how to accomplish that.»

«Don't worry,» Algy said with forced nonchalance, «I'll think of something.»

«When we're free,» Biggles continued, «I'll go for the documents.»

«Wait, what about the Soviet sailors?» Ginger put in.

Having no satisfying answer, Biggles shrugged. «It is possible they will have given up on the search with the night falling. They're in no great hurry, now that the Coastguard have been taken care of, and that will work to our advantage. As we cannot know what to expect, I'll have to improvise. Meanwhile, Ginger and Bertie will go for a radio and get a message through for Raymond. Let's hope the radio is a model you will be able to operate.»

«And me?» asked Algy.

Biggles gave him an incredulous look. «What, you don't have enough on your plate already?»

Algy had a thoughtful frown. «I'll be out there anyway,» he pointed out. «Might as well do something useful.»

«Oh, very well,» Biggles surrendered. «You can look out and if it seems one of us is about to be discovered, try to make a diversion.» He hesitated. There was no privacy to be had, and despite the high regard in which he held Ginger and Bertie, what he had to say would have better been so in private. But there was nothing to it. «Algy, are you sure you're up to the task? If you have even a doubt you might not be able to pull it off - then say so. It will not help us for you to get killed stupidly.»

It was half an order, half a request - and perhaps, half a prayer. But, as Biggles had known all along, Algy shook his head determinedly. «I can do it,» he said with deep-rooted assurance. «You can rely on me.»

Biggles watched him a second more, wishing he did not have to let Algy do it, knowing it was pointless, and finally looked away. «Does anyone have something to add?»

They did not, and they set to work on the porthole with Algy's pocket knife. The blades were quite thin, and the tip of the longest one broke before they were done, but eventually the nuts were unbolted. Ginger and Bertie held Algy's legs as he slid his lean upper body through the round aperture. He just barely got through; he might not have before the whole ordeal on the island. Biggles heard him grope around on the hull of the ship to find a grip on the smooth metal, and then, slowly, his legs disappeared through the porthole, until only the tip of his toes rested on the ledge. Then finally he was gone. Biggles let himself drop on one of the bunks.

This was going to be a long wait.

* * *

><p><strong>AN : I did not offer a translation of the Russian being used because the story was told from Biggles' POV and he doesn't speak the language. If anyone's curious, what von Stalhein said could be translated as "Enough ! He may speak." I wasn't sure which interjection would best convey my meaning - various dictionaries suggested alternatively "полно" or "баста", but the first, it seems to me, conveys a different connotation (since the word itself also means "full" or "filled"), while the second is clearly of foreign (Spanish) origin and may or may not have been in use in the 1950's. A third translation was "достаточно", but seemed more commonly used as an adverb (as in, "to have enough of something"). Hence, "хватит" seemed the best choice when meant as a rebuke, although I may be mistaken. And yes, I do realize I'm the only one interested in such semantics.**

**Also, the name of the ship, "Туман", means "Mist" in Russian. For a disguised, stealthy ship, it seemed adequate. Later on it is written in latin script (Tuman) for the sake of convenience.  
><strong>


	19. Night Prowlings

**Chapter 19 - Night Prowlings  
><strong>

* * *

><p>Climbing the hull of a ship was by no means an easy task. Algy had not thought it would be, but it was a good thing he had not unduly dwelt on it, for he might not have volunteered so eagerly if he had. Whatever grips he found were shallow and slippery at best, and more than once Algy cursed the rain under his breath. He might not have managed at all, had the Russian ship not been so old. Some sketchy repairs had been made at places, which allowed Algy to climb a meter or two, and after that he managed to catch a rope dangling over the side for some reason. It used to be holding one of the dinghies in place, Algy realized eventually. He pushed the stray thought out of his mind as he continued his ascent to the ship's rail.<p>

He was almost there, and already congratulating himself, when the noise of a lighter, hardly three feet above him, nearly made him let go of the rope out of fright. It was, he realized when he angled his head back, one of the sailors enjoying a late smoke on deck. Algy cursed inwardly the poor man for several generations to come, and for good measures had a few imaginative things to think about the man's parents. It was likely that somewhere in Russia at this moment, an elderly couple had their ears ringing.

As there was nothing else to do, Algy waited. He coiled the rope around his right leg to release somewhat the pressure on his arms, but it was only a temporary relief. The rope, thick, abrasive and wet, scraped his fingers as he clung to it tighter. Algy could not think of any wait in his life that had been as uncomfortable as this one was. Adding to the painful wait, he was furious at the delay. They had no time to waste, and there he was, dangling like an idiot over the ship's side. He looked up at the faint, reddish light of the sailor's cigarette, and willed it away.

He could not tell how much time had passed ; probably less than he thought, but it felt like a century before the sailor moved away, sauntering towards the prow of the ship. The relief that flooded through Algy was followed by keener worry when he realized how cramped his muscles were. But he had to climb up, there was no other way. Centimeter after centimeter, Algy hoisted himself up. Although he felt like he could not possible force his body any further, he kept moving steadily, and finally felt the ship's rail under his fingers - now slick with blood. The last effort was the most difficult, but finally he was up on the deck.

Despite his anxiety to move quickly, he had to take a minute to relax his cramped muscles. He began to stretch, trying to regain feeling in his limbs as quickly as possible, but before he was through he heard the heavy sound of footsteps. He had just enough time to throw himself behind a pile of crates before a man - an officer, from the sight of him, possibly the skipper based on his build - came up the deck. The officer stopped just beside Algy's crate, and Algy tensed as he wondered if he had made too much noise. He was far from certain he could take the other man down, let alone in complete silence.

It turned out he did not have to. The officer resumed walking, and began to pace to and fro on the deck, much to Algy's mounting frustration. There was no way he could get away without being seen by the other man, but each second he waited increased his chances of being discovered. His nails dug in his palms as he weighed his options, but he could only wait and hope the officer would find something else to do - sooner rather than later. If not... he would find a way. He could not let Biggles down, not when he had insisted he could rely on him. He would not break Biggles' trust, nor his faith.

* * *

><p>Biggles felt like Algy had been gone for hours, and yet he knew it could not have been more than a few minutes. He found himself being more nervous than he was accustomed, almost jumping at the slightest sound. He strained his ears, waiting for the ruckus that would signal Algy's discovery - and it did not come. Glancing down at his watch, which had miraculously survived this far, he found that Algy had been gone for only ten minutes. It was too early to worry. He should not be concerned like that, but he could not help it.<p>

_Have a little faith_, he berated himself. _There's Algy, taking all the risks to get us out of this mess, and you're fretting like an old woman._

He wished he could pace, but he knew it would worry Bertie and Ginger needlessly, so he controlled himself. Harder to control was the twitching of his knees, and he focused on his breathing to calm himself down.

«I say, did you hear that?» Bertie had cocked his head aside, straining to hear the faintest of sounds.

«What?» Biggles asked, pleased to find that his voice betrayed none of his frustration and irritability.

«I don't really know... sounded like the sound of a voice. Must have been dreaming.»

At the same time, Biggles heard a muffled sound on the other side of the door; then nothing for a minute or two, but just when he was about to comment on it, a slight grating noise followed. He shared a puzzled look with Bertie and Ginger. Finally, he heard three soft knocks on the door, and his heart leapt.

«Algy?» he called softly, not daring to risk being heard by someone else.

No answer came. If it was Algy, why did he not open the door, Biggles wondered. And if it was not - then what was this all about? Slowly, he stood up and walked to the door.

«Algy?» he called again, though not any louder. Still no answer came.

Tentatively, he reached out for the doorknob and twisted it. It turned effortlessly, and when Biggles pulled the door to him, it gave way without a creak. Still somewhat amazed, he poked his head through the door ajar, and peered outside. The passageway was plunged in darkness but almost immediately Biggles' eyes fell on a prone body right beside the door. Based on the uniform, he could tell it was one of the sailors - probably the one supposed to be guarding them. But what could have happened to him? If Algy had done this... no, if he had he would be there. But then, who?

Only one other name came to Biggles' mind, but the mere thought was so unexpected that he refused at first to consider it. And yet...

There would be time later to think about it, he decided. For the time being, they were free, and that was what mattered. Now, they needed to meet up with Algy, and carry on with the plan. Then, perhaps they could find a way home, at long last.

* * *

><p>Algy, knowing nothing of the freedom of his friends, was beginning to have rash thoughts. His hands hurt, his back was sore where he'd knocked it on the porthole edge, and the captain was still marching up and down. He was just casting about for some suitable distraction when abruptly the captain turned and walked off.<p>

Shocked, Algy lay for a brief moment, then carefully wriggled out from his hiding place. Working his way in the same direction as the captain had gone, planning to use the only route he knew to their 'cabin', he discovered the man hadn't fully disappeared, merely moved forwards a few dozen paces towards the old-fashioned mounted compass, which he was staring at, and then out to sea, as if measuring something. Algy shrugged; he didn't have time to deal with it now. That could follow once he'd got the others out. He turned slowly, looking for the hatch which they had gone down earlier. It seemed, from what little he knew of ships, that this one had been built for economy rather than comfort, with real hatches instead of sealed doors leading to companion ways. It was just his bad luck that the hatch he wanted had been shut, a raised opening taunting him from three feet away, grey cover firmly in place.

Distressed now, unsure of how much time he had, Algy glanced between the two problems he had- the captain and the hatch. It was with a mixture of trepidation and satisfaction that he saw the hatch open and remain so once the figure had climbed out of it. A figure which was fast becoming imprinted in his memory. «Pull yourself together man, honestly, anyone would think you were a green'un.» He shook his head violently, wriggled his fingers - what had possessed him to not sacrifice his sleeves for grip?

* * *

><p>«It's alright» Biggles called back to Ginger and Bertie, beckoning them forwards, «The corridor's clear, so we'll be pushing on.»<p>

Ginger was halfway down the corridor before Bertie caught him up. Suddenly a thought hit him. «What about Algy?»

Bertie shrugged. «Biggles says he'll keep an eye out for him. Do you know where you're going, old bean?»

Ginger grinned into the dim interior corridor they were traversing. «You betcha. Noticed it as we were being swept along to visit that Kura-fella.»

«One day we'll do something about that annoying drawl you adopt in moments like these,» Bertie grumbled, «like stopping you from seeing a movie at all.»

Ginger dragged him down into the room and shushed him with a hand to his arm, then settled down at the dimly lit radio, «You wouldn't dare. Now go and keep an ear to the door and an eye on this rigmarole in front of me, if you please. Haven't an idea what I'm doing.»

Grumbling, Bertie gave way.

* * *

><p>Biggles, worried about Algy and tempted to stay where he was, frowned at himself and determinedly headed up towards the deck. They were on a small ship, in an uncomplicated area of it, and he would do better not to look a gift horse in the mouth. He wasn't doing any good hanging around the corridor.<p>

Still, he wished he knew what had happened to Algy, and why the dickens their door had been opened - he assumed by Erich von Stalhein. Unless this was a very elaborate trap, the meaning of which he couldn't fathom.

Again, he sighed, the sound loud in the darkness. Reaching the final companion-way, he hesitated. To step up there was to invite danger, should he appear at the wrong moment. Carefully, inch by cautious inch, he raised himself towards the still open hatch. Starlight, dim but clear, illuminated the deck enough, with the help of some strategic lanterns.

Fixing a picture of the deck in his head - he would emerge near what would once have been called the wheel house - he rose still higher. A muffled noise had him ducking back down again, holding his breath. From where he was standing, the deck acted like the skin of a drum, and distances and relative dynamics were hard to judge. It was with some surprise, then, that the wriggling he had thought a few yards away, resolved into a face peering down at him.

For a moment, hope flared, and he had 'Algy?' half out of his mouth before he realised it wasn't his companion at all. Framed by starlight the features were hard to see but he made out dark hair and brows, the swarthy look of a seaman, and realised the skipper must have been taking an evening stroll. A long arm - the long arm of the law, he thought dully - snaked down and wrapped around his collar, leaving no question about what he should do now. Scrambling, Biggles emerged on deck and instantly twisted away, pelting towards the Catalina as the surprised man lost his grip.

* * *

><p>Algy, still hidden in the boxes, eyes fixed on the hatch and the skipper, started when the man moved and then, like a conjurer, pulled up the very man he was trying to get to.<p>

His concern when Biggles twisted out of the man's grasp and pelted towards the plane can better be imagined than described, and he acted purely instinctively to save his companion from any hue and cry.

Before the captain could realise fully that he had lost his prey, Algy collapsed into his legs, grunting as they hit the deck, but making no other noise. He didn't dare look at Biggles' retreat, hoping against hope the man would accept a change of prisoner easily. After all, his job had been to provide a distraction.

It seemed to work, if being rolled off a stocky man by the simple expedient of said man tipping you off him and standing over you could be said to be successful. Algy remained on the deck, somewhat curled in on himself. He had thought the man to be indifferent when they were introduced, but being indifferent during the day when you are running a ship and retaining that stance when you are greeted with a prisoner for your abuse are two separate things, as he well knew.

The swarthy sea-captain stared down at him for a good couple of minutes, then grunted something which Algy decided meant he could sit up. Cautiously he did so, noting with satisfaction that there were very faint sounds coming from the Catalina, sounds which didn't merge with the slapping of the swell and the creak of the hulls of the two vessels.

With grunts and signs - not to mention some prodding - Algy was shoved into the corner, wedged in place with some rope and seaman-like knots. Then the captain disappeared around the other side of the deck and down a second hatch Algy had paid little attention to before.

* * *

><p>Running full-tilt, expecting to hear a thundering of guards after him at any minute, Biggles reached the Catalina unmolested and surprised. Stepping on board he turned and saw why. «Of all the foolish things he's done, this takes the cake,» he mused, watching the shorter, stockier captain prepare, as he thought, to lay into Algy.<p>

«Yet he's doing it so I can get these blasted papers,» he added, and trod silently to the back of the aircraft, keeping a watchful eye out for sentries. It wouldn't do to lead them to the papers. Cautiously he explored the hull as best he could in the semi-dark. Finally, satisfied there was no-one watching, he made his way to the back wall and reloosened the rivets there. Sliding his hand inside the gap he retrieved the papers and hastily stuck them inside his jacket, before re-attaching the hull lining. Wouldn't do for the word to get out of such a perfect hiding place.

Still moving with the stealth of long experience, Biggles returned to the door of the Catalina, only to find the deck of the ship deserted entirely. He had been planning to return, snatch Algy from the captain and jump...somewhere. Probably a lifeboat. They were still in territorial waters and it wouldn't take long for someone to pick them up. He just had to keep them from going past the radio room.

«Which you won't do standing here, you great Wally, so down you go,» he abused himself, and again crossed the railed distance.

* * *

><p>Ginger spent a couple minutes just sitting at the set, feeling it. He'd had an instructor who swore you could feel each individual radio if you gave it enough time. Personally he never really went for it as much as the instructor did but the man had had a point. Five minutes after posting Bertie as watch, Ginger was fiddling the appropriate dials and setting the frequency for one which would be reached in central London. He knew there were monitors in Raymond's building, all he had to do was attract their attention.<p>

Voice seemed to be the preferred method and he spoke into the mike, checking the needle readouts flickered on all appropriate dials. «Hebblethwaite to Colonel Raymond, Hebblethwaite to Colonel Raymond. Request direct reply.»

He waited five seconds, repeated the call, repeated the whole rigmarole again, then awaited a reply. Twenty seconds later - a time calculated to feel an age - the reply came through and he sagged with relief, giving Bertie the thumbs up.

«Raymond to Hebblethwaite. What is your position, over.»

Ginger frowned, unsure of how to answer that particular question- there was no time to detail a quarter of what they had been through.

«On board Soviet ship - Tango Yankee Mike Alpha Hotel - with Lissie, Lacey and Biggles. In possession of documents. Over.»

There was a pause as, presumably, Raymond considered, then said, «Coordinates of ship known? Over»

Ginger shrugged hopelessly, looking at Bertie for help. Given Bertie was doing as he was told- staring down the corridor- none was forthcoming.

«Last known position English Channel, on heading for Thames. Over,» he had to admit, and hope it was enough.

«Will arrange pick-up. Sit tight and remain unencumbered. Over and out.»

Ginger could imagine the bustle which was going on behind those words, and was pleased he had to do nothing but remain free on board the ship.

«Now where shall we go?» he asked, stepping up to Bertie.

* * *

><p>Algy was not left alone for long, which he would come to regret later on. The ropes that bound his wrists so tightly dug into his chafed skin as he twisted himself in an attempt to get to his knees, but he had hardly managed that when the captain made his reappearance. He was not alone; behind him followed the tall, thin figure of the Russian colonel. Algy tried his most innocent smile, but Karutchev was in no mood for games. An arm extended and Algy was seized by his collar and brought to his feet, to find the colonel's face hardly one inch from his. A string of abuse in Russian followed, with something that sounded half like a question, half like an insult. Algy shrugged helplessly.<p>

«Sorry, what was that?»

Karutchev gave it a try in German, but he was so furious that his syntax suffered for it, and he gave up with a snarl of impatience. Algy tried to bite back a smile but was not entirely successful, and that was a little too much for the Russian officer. His closed fist collided with Algy's nose, and Algy stumbled backwards in the corner, almost collapsing from the strength of the blow. Turning to the skipper, the colonel said a few sentences, during which Algy recognized von Stalhein's name through a haze of pain. The skipper nodded and strode away, while Algy tried to regain his balance. Something warm, probably blood, trickled down his lips.

Algy and the colonel waited together for a few minutes. Karutchev had not let go of the airman, though he was still tied up, and kept glaring at him, as though he took his escape as a personal offense.

Von Stalhein finally arrived with the skipper, somewhat more dishevelled than customary. «_Die gefangenen sind entwischen_,» he said immediately. Karutchev snarled an answer, and a brief conversation followed in Russian.

«It appears your friends have escaped, Lacey,» von Stalhein finally said, his tone neutral.

The absence of a sneer told Algy quite a lot. He returned von Stalhein's stare, an eyebrow quirked quizzically.

«Is that so?» he asked innocently. «Thanks for letting me know.»

«Despite any misconception you might have, this is hardly amusing,» von Stalhein said. «You should not delude yourself ; your friends will be caught soon enough. The colonel wants to know what your plans were and how you escaped.»

Von Stalhein gave Algy a strange look as he said the last words, and it took Algy a second or two to understand why. But of course, if as he suspected the German had been the one to free Biggles and the others, he had ample reason to be anxious.

«Through the porthole,» Algy said. In other circumstances, he would not have answered so readily, but he felt he should at least give von Stalhein a proper cover before he started being uncooperative. «We managed to unbolt it,» he added as means of explanation.

He thought he saw von Stalhein relax ever so slightly as he translated his answer. He wondered how much time had passed. Certainly, Biggles had had time to retrieve the papers by now, and perhaps he was looking for a dinghy to get them ashore.

The colonel was growling in Russian again.

«Colonel Karutchev is tired of your little games, Lacey,» von Stalhein said. «As am I, I assure you. If you do not tell him immediately where the papers are, he will have you shot.»

«That's too bad,» Algy said. He tried to keep his tone light, but his blood ran cold in his veins and his heart began to beat faster. With some surprise, he recognized that feeling as fear. He was actually scared of what Karutchev might do - but where others would be paralysed, he felt clear-headed, almost detached, as if it was all happening to someone else. Someone spoke, and Algy was surprised to recognize his own voice, much calmer than he felt. «Send Biggles my regards.»

«Сказал ли он, где документы и куда пошли другие англичане ?» Karutchev asked.

«Нет,» answered von Stalhein, a strange expression on his face. Algy caught only that last word - "no" in Russian.

Shrugging, the colonel took his gun from the holster at his hip, and aimed at Algy, casually, as if he was about to shoot at a cardboard target and not at a human being. Algy was tempted to close his eyes, but forced himself to look straight at the gun.

«Kinda stupid, dying like that,» he muttered to himself. «Oh, well, I guess you don't get to choose...»

He fully expected to see his days end right there and then, but von Stalhein lay a hand on Karutchev's arm and spoke to him urgently for a minute or two. Karutchev looked dubious at first, but finally shrugged and put his gun away, almost regretfully. Somewhat incredulous, Algy looked at them, unwilling to believe he actually got a respite until the colonel strode away, shouting orders in an angry voice.

Algy looked for von Stalhein's eyes. «What did you tell him?»

«Your fate has only been delayed, Lacey, not rescinded,» the German said, but the softness of his voice belied the harsh words. «I fully expect your friends will not leave without you, and that shall be their downfall.»

He took Algy by the shoulder and pushed him towards the skipper, not as roughly as he could have. Even as he did so, Algy, felt a hard object be pushed in his limp fingers. He did not need to see it to recognize it as a knife, and he could almost have smiled if not for the presence of the skipper.

«Oh, so I'm the bait,» he said lightly, though he was more than a little worried. He knew that von Stalhein was right, Biggles would never leave him behind - and though von Stalhein was playing a dangerous game, Karutchev was not. Karutchev would not hesitate to shoot them.

* * *

><p>Before they left the radio room, Bertie had insisted they destroy the radio set, and so they had, thus making sure the Soviets could not call in reinforcements. Their next step was to find Biggles and Algy again and find a way to escape, but they must have taken a wrong turn at some point, because they were somewhere deep inside the ship and Ginger had no idea which way to go to get back up on the deck.<p>

Their lack of a sense of orientation, however, turned out to be a stroke of luck because thus they found themselves well hidden. The alarm had obviously been given at some point, but the sailors all ran up to search the deck, expecting their prisoners to be escaping that way. While it made sense, tactically speaking, the sailors would end up being disappointed, Ginger thought with a smug grin.

The grin faded somewhat when he realized that they would have to get to the deck at some point, and he still had no idea which way to go.

«Let's just keep going until we find some stairs,» suggested Bertie. «It's not a big ship, by Jove, we ought to find a jolly way out soon.»

«Let's hope so,» Ginger mumbled.

The next room turned out to be the engine room, and that's when Ginger had one of his more brilliant ideas.

«What do you say we try a little diversion?» he suggested. He did not have to shout, because the engines were shut down and cold, the ship not having moved in the past few hours. «And while they're busy down here we can make our escape.»

«Sounds good,» said Bertie, «but how do you suggest we go about it? We have no explosives of any kind.»

Somewhat disappointed, Ginger had to surrender to that logic; there was nothing in the engine room they could use to sabotage the ship. Regretfully giving up on the idea they went on to the next room, the shape of which indicated they were near the bow of the ship.

«Hello, what's that?» Ginger muttered, when he spotted a stack of objects that looked familiar. Coming closer to it, he was able to confirm it; those were shells.

«Since when do freighters carry weapons?» he asked, incredulously.

«Wouldn't you, if you knew you'd have to go into territorial waters of a foreign country?» countered Bertie. He had taken a look around, and perked up considerably when he noticed a set of stairs going up. «And here's our way out.»

«Hold on,» Ginger interrupted him. «Couldn't we use some of these whizz-bangs for a diversion?»

«Not without blowing ourselves up at the same time. Come on!»

They began running up the stairs, praying silently that they could make it to the top without any unforeseen encounter. It was really not the right moment to be starting a one-way conversation with one of these surly Russian sailors.

* * *

><p><strong>AN : I had only just finished correcting and formatting that chapter when my connection crashed and I had to do it all over again. My connection _never_ crashes. Except this once. Karma sucks.**

**But, hey, we're over the 100,000 words mark, and with one chapter to spare at that, people !  
><strong>

**So, if anyone's interested, "Сказал ли он, где документы и куда пошли другие англичане ?" means "Did he say where the documents are, and where the other Englishmen went ?"  
><strong>

**Von Stalhein's answer, obviously, was "nyet", but I don't think that needs translating.  
><strong>


	20. Hail Britannia

**Chapter 20 - Hail Britannia  
><strong>

* * *

><p>On his way between the Catalina and the Russian ship, Biggles had noticed a dinghy, the very same that had been used to bring them aboard the first time in all likelihood, and he filed the information away for further use. That would make a nice means of escape, but for the time being he had a more pressing preoccupation - namely, one Honourable Algernon Lacey.<p>

By the time he reached the deck, there was quite a ruckus coming from the cabins, where apparently the sailors were conducting a search. It would take them a few minutes to ascertain that none of the British were hiding there, precious minutes that Biggles intended to use to his advantage. He heard a familiar voice shouting above the commotion, and smiled grimly. He preferred to know von Stalhein would not be in his way ; it would make the situation all too awkward. For the both of them.

Running as silently as he could and staying near the railing, Biggles made for the stern of the ship where he had seen Algy last. Peering cautiously round the corner, he saw Algy standing there, hands bound behind his back, guarded only by the skipper. For a minute, he hesitated. It looked too easy, too straightforward ; that alone screamed the word «trap» in his mind. But time played against him, and he would have to act, one way or the other, in the next seconds. The lack of time gave him only two options, either walk away or risk it all and free Algy.

Not much of a choice at all, in the end.

All hesitation forgotten, Biggles drew the gun he had collected from the unconscious guard, and stepped forward.

«_Hände hoch_,» he said, his voice low but clear.

The skipper turned around. He did not look surprised, or even alarmed.

«Biggles, careful, it's...» Algy shouted, but he was silenced immediately by the skipper pulling roughly at his bound arms.

«_Hände hoch_,» said a voice from behind Biggles.

He knew before moving what he would see, and a sense of fatality overtook him as he lowered his arm, slowly, and turned to face the smiling face of colonel Karutchev.

«_Also, von Stalhein war richtig_,» the colonel said in heavily-accented German.

Biggles felt somewhat confused. Was the trap von Stalhein's idea? He certainly knew them well enough to devise such a plan - but why would he, after he had gone to such length to help them? But perhaps he thought that, having given them a fighting chance, he owed them nothing more. Be that as it may, Biggles was well and truly beaten now. A feeling of defeat washed over him. That was it then; he had no more aces up his sleeves, no last-minute joker.

«_Sie haben uns viele Schwierigkeit verursacht_,» Karutchev added, still in German. «_Aber nicht mehr_.»

But before he had time to do whatever he intended, a sailor ran up to him, all but ignoring the two prisoners, looking quite panicked. Out of breath, he managed to stammer a few words, which were apparently as obtuse to the colonel as they were to Biggles.

Turning to look where the panicked sailor had come from, Biggles blinked, unsure if he could trust his eyes for a moment, then tipped his head back and laughed. Karutchev looked angrily at him, but when he saw what had caused the sailor's fright, he blanched and swore. The ominous, dark shape of a warship was now clearly visible in the moonlight. With all that had happened, nobody had noticed it earlier, and it was now frighteningly close. With a jolt of joy, Biggles thought that Ginger and Bertie must have gotten through to Raymond. At that same moment, a voice rang out in English.

«Unknown ship, this is the frigate HMS Lancaster. You are currently in Irish territorial waters and will be boarded. If you offer any resistance, you shall be destroyed. We await your surrender.»

Focused on the more immediate threat, Karutchev was not even looking at his prisoners now. Biggles looked for Algy's eyes and caught them. He was still holding the gun, Karutchev not having had time to take it from him, but Algy's hands were tied at his back. That did not seem to bother him, though, and he gave Biggles a slight nod, his eyes flickering to the skipper. The exchange had not taken more than a few seconds, and they knew each other well enough to not need more.

Suddenly Algy pushed the skipper away - apparently he had managed to somehow free his hands - while Biggles at the exact same time knocked Karutchev away with the back of his gun. They ran together towards the bow of the ship, expecting at any moment to be shot in the back. But although they could hear Karutchev swear profusely, only a few wild shots whizzed past them.

«Where to?» Algy panted.

Having no breath left to talk, Biggles simply took the lead and ran towards the place where the Catalina - and incidentally the dinghy - were tied up. As he ran, he had a fleeting thought for Bertie and Ginger, wondering where they were and what the heck they could be doing. He did not have to wonder long, however, as he crashed into someone who had somehow appeared in front of him, and who fell down with a string of curses. English curses.

«Biggles!» That was Ginger, arriving just behind Bertie. «We were...»

«No time,» Biggles interrupted him, pausing and panting for breath. «Let's get to the dinghy, right now.»

Their endeavour was made simpler by the fact that although sailors were running to and fro, none paid them any heed, either too panicked or too busy. Once the four of them were safely in the small launch, Algy cut the line that tied it up to the Russian ship and they began to drift away, slowly.

«Anyone injured?» Biggles asked, still panting from the exertion.

The other three indicated that they were all right.

«More importantly,» asked Algy impatiently, «do you have the papers?»

«Of course, I would not leave without them.»

It felt a little odd to be just sitting there, without anything to do, after the exertion of the past moments. Onboard the Russian ship, there was quite a commotion. A moment later, they heard an explosion.

«What the dickens is that?» Biggles frowned.

Ginger slapped his forehead. «Must be one of the shells. Bertie and I, we saw a stack of shells while we were making our escape.»

Biggles shook his head, amazed. «So they're making a stand? They must know they have no chance.»

«Maybe they're just trying to confuse the frigate long enough to make their escape,» Algy observed. «And it would look pretty bad for them if they were caught in territorial waters.»

Whatever the soviets had in mind, they had better have a plan, Biggles thought, because the frigate would not take kindly to being fired upon. Indeed, a moment later further explosions followed, though it seemed that none of the shots had hit the _Tuman_ so far.

«Look!» Algy seized Biggles' arm, pointing at something on the deck of the Russian ship.

Squinting, Biggles was able to make out a tall, thin figure bending slightly over the railing, and apparently looking in their direction. They were already twenty or thirty metres away, too far for him to see clearly the man's features, especially in the dark, but he did not need to to know who it was.

At that moment, another explosion shook the _Tuman_. Fire flared up while half the deck was encompassed in swirling flames, and the figure was hurled across the railing into the water by the blow of the explosion. Before anyone had had time to move, Biggles stood up, removed his sweater and dove.

* * *

><p>«Of all the stupid things he's done...» Ginger glanced askance at Algy and then Bertie as the former offered a vile oath, glaring at the slim figure in the water, striking out for von Stalhein.<p>

«That man's a devil to tow,» Algy added, from bitter experience, «Aren't there any oars on board?» His eyes blazed but his voice was calm, as calm as you would expect from a man who had served out dangerous situations from the age of sixteen.

Hastily, Bertie and Ginger cast around and found them, two heavy oars which they had hardly shipped before Algy grabbed them and set to. It was lucky they were so close; else Algy may have been tempted to jump in too, which would have served no earthly purpose. As it was he stopped rowing a few feet away from the bedraggled pair and shunted Ginger and Bertie out of the way like so much ballast.

They were lucky the dinghy was more than an inflatable one, being instead solidly built wood, with a proper rail around the edge at heights suitable for capsizing craft. This enabled Bertie and Ginger room to manoeuvre, each of them taking and shipping an oar, prepared to row away from the ship should she show signs of going under. The pull would drown them too, of that they were certain.

Algy leant dangerously over the railing, one hand stretched out.

* * *

><p>«We seem...to be making... a habit of... fishing you out.» Biggles grunted to von Stalhein as he pulled the other man by his collar.<p>

«Next thing you'll be asking me to kick, like Lac...Algy did.» Erich commented dryly, suiting action to words as he endeavoured to help. «I am perfectly fine you know, I needn't be towed like this.»

«Nonsense. You've a nasty gash on your head... I'll wager sea water disagrees with your scratches as much as it would with mine.» Biggles saw the approaching craft with relief. Not that towing a floating, kicking man was hard work, but the water was cold and he had no wish to continue floundering when he could be sitting.

«Up you go,» he panted, pushing von Stalhein into Algy's waiting hand.

«You're lucky these two shipped before helping, else you'd have a nasty bump on the other side.» Algy commented when von Stalhein showed every inclination to complain at the now more cramped quarters. «You do know Hebblethwaite and Lissy, don't you. Good. Now shift over.»

Von Stalhein attempted to shoot a glare at Algy but it was hard to pull off, outnumbered and outmoralled as he was. Algy was hardly paying attention anyway, leaving Bertie to dry and bind von Stalhein as he saw fit. Algy's mind was more concerned with examining the shivering figure in front of him, his mouth half open as he bit back the torrent of words. «Out of that wet shirt and on with this jumper. You at least remembered to take that off before you dove in,» was all he said to Biggles, passing over the woollen clothing and adding, «I don't like your chances of dry feet, at the moment.»

Bertie and Ginger grinned at each other over the head of von Stalhein. «At least they aren't arguing it out here,» Ginger muttered, «I hate it when they do that.»

Bertie grunted, then with a louder voice, inquired, «Where to, skipper?»

Biggles gestured to starboard. «Anywhere so long as it's away. We needn't hang around here to get...»

His word was cut off by another loud explosion which shimmered across the water, tossing them as oars were unshipped.

«We'll be more stable when we're moving.» Ginger noted, leaning into the stroke. He hadn't the finesse of Bertie - who had rowed for 'the old school, lad, and how they teach you there' - but Biggles was wet through and not allowed to join in the exertions by a vehement Algy, who sat on the same board and cast anxious glances his way whenever he sneezed or shifted.

Von Stalhein remained in place a little longer and then wriggled out to sit next to Biggles' other side, allowing the rowers more room.

«It's just like old times,» Algy smirked, receiving a glower from the German and a puzzled glance from the two rowers.

«You're escape has clearly done you some damage,» returned the German, peering at where they were going.

«You can hardly blame me for escaping,» rejoined Algy, «though it wasn't required, in the end.»

Von Stalhein nodded and returned his gaze to the other vessel, looming to their side now. There were a few more _whumps_ as shells were exchanged, and some shouts.

«What do you think those are all about?» queried Ginger, taking a break from rowing and causing Bertie to catch a crab and start grumbling.

«A boarding party, I should say,» Biggles decided. «Since our late captors seem not to understand when to stop.»

Indeed the HMS Lancaster could be seen, from their angle, to be lowering two boats into the water. As soon as they touched, motors started and Ginger fancied he could see smoke appearing across the water.

«I presume they have a plan,» Biggles commented. «Otherwise they're in for a nasty shock.»

Von Stalhein shrugged. «I'm sure you need not lose any sleep over it, though you are no doubt tempted to,» he assured the pilot. «We tend to know how to plan for any eventuality.»

Algy smirked but said nothing past, «Buck up, rowers, or ye'll be heaved overboard,» in what he clearly thought a seamanlike drawl.

Bertie frowned, argumentative again now the danger had passed. «Being heaved overboard would be a nice change from this muck sweat I'm working up,» he began. He seemed ready to go on when Algy broke in, «It's because ye can't row, me scallywag.» They all cracked a smile, apart from von Stalhein, who merely seemed politely amused, as one sitting in on an inside joke.

«If you explained without the piracy I might get it,» Bertie offered.

Algy groaned. «What's the fun of messing about in boats if ye canna pirate-talk?» But dropped the accent when Biggles tapped him on the elbow and gestured the Lancaster was moving as well - away, for some reason.

«You're rowing like you're on the Avon. Let your shoulders do less and your back do more.» Dutifully, Bertie tried, and Algy made a few more comments, setting him straight. «You don't have them fancy leg-stops here, you see, so don't go wearing out your legs and lower back for nothing.» Ginger tried to copy what was being said, though he didn't understand the foot-reference at all.

A few minutes later, a light white foam now marking their progress, von Stalhein conceded, «You are knowledgeable about boats, you are knowledgeable about planes...» with a hint of a question.

Algy shrugged. «Merioneth is a sea-county.»

He seemed inclined to say a little more, but their conversation, such as it was, was cut off by a further _whump_ and the cries of a boarding party being repelled.

«It's like being a real Pirate,» Ginger huffed, «Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum, me hearty.» he added, with an ironical twist.

«Ahoy the life-craft. Remain where you are. Do not approach the ship.»

Hastily Bertie and Ginger again shipped oars, going so far as to put their hands on the heads. Biggles glanced at Algy, then at von Stalhein.

«Do you still have that knife?» he asked. Algy took it out and retrieved a blade, gesturing at von Stalhein.

«If you would. My fingers are a little cold. I wouldn't want to slip,» Biggles smiled, and Algy nodded again, slicing through the implacable tow-rope lashing von Stalhein's hands. In the end binding him had been a completely unnecessary precaution, but they were not to know that, and besides it probably helped the German not to be overly tempted to jump overboard and join the Russians in whatever mad scheme was supposed to provision for their escape. It was doubtful whether he would have made it, but that had never stopped him before.

Von Stalhein frowned at them, and then placed his own hands on his head. «Since we are all to prove our innocence...» Algy muttered, doing likewise, before bellowing up to the deck. «Ahoy _Lancaster_. We are British subjects, escaped prisoners.»

They could make out some muttering, and then a sharp spot-light peered down at them. Blinking, they looked up at deck, attempting, in von Stalhein's case, to look more innocent than on the day he was born.

It must have worked, for an answering shout informed them they would be boarded and to not resist. Dutifully they waited as half a dozen men swarmed down the rope-ladders and beckoned them closer.

«Slowly does it,» Biggles muttered. «And no funny business, from anyone, understand?»

Bertie and Ginger nodded and again set to, nudging their craft next to the small pilot- step which held the men.

«Hands on your heads again - ship those oars! - and sit tight.» One of them, judged the leader, instructed them. «We're boarding the other ship now and don't need any more trouble.»

Dutifully they were searched for weapons and managed to present some papers which Algy had saved from the machine, proclaiming them British citizens. «Alright, come aboard slowly.»

Two men stayed in the life-boat to usher them out and they stepped aboard one at a time.

«Here, whose jacket is this?» Called the last man off, sharp eyes spotting a lump which Ginger had been sitting on.

«That would be mine,» Biggles answered evenly. «Thank you.» And he held out his hand for it.

«Ach, you won't be needing it here, though. Why, it's all ripped from its use as a cushion.» The man made to throw it over board and Algy and Biggles moved as one.

«Don't!» called out Ginger, watching the sailors eyes widen as two irate airmen held out their hands for the jacket.

«It's my jacket,» Biggles said evenly. «I happen to be attached to it.» Algy, next to the outstretched hand, put his hand out as well and gripped the jacket, feeling the crinkle of paper with a sigh of relief. «I promise it won't harm you,» he smiled. «Just give in to him. You understand that pilots have little quirks, don't you?»

Slowly the man nodded and relinquished his hold. Swiftly, Algy passed Biggles the jacket. «Well that's torn it - Erich knows where they are now, if he didn't already,» he muttered.

There wasn't time for talking though, with ammunition being moved around above their heads and the narrow 'way up to the bridge being pointed out to them.

They were brought to the upper deck, where a quick discussion followed about what ought to be done with them. From what was said, Biggles gathered that the skipper of the frigate and his officers were busy enough with the _Tuman_, or whatever was left of it, and prisoners, no matter what their nationality might be, were not a huge priority. In the end, they were simply escorted to a cabin, after which a man who seemed to be the surgeon came by and took a look at them.

Having ascertained that Ginger, Bertie and Biggles were mostly unharmed, he spent some time dressing Algy's hands and taking care of his nose too, after which he moved on to von Stalhein, who submitted to the proceedings with a sour look. His foul mood was eminently forgivable, Algy thought, considering that he had had his head banged around a little too much of late, not to mention losing the papers for the second time in a row. Nevertheless, Algy would probably have felt more charitable had his nose not been throbbing so painfully.

«Looks like you've all been through a lot,» the surgeon said sympathetically as he finished to dress the German's forehead.

«Quite,» agreed Bertie wholeheartedly. «I'm jolly glad to think it's over now.»

«We're going to have to keep you under guard until your story can be checked,» warned one of the sailors who seemed to be some sort of petty officer, and who apparently had been left in charge of them.

«We understand, of course,» said Biggles. «You're only doing your job.»

Von Stalhein looked like he might have wanted to object, but thought better than to push his luck. The man must have a very strange karma, Algy thought. For all the strokes of bad luck he got, he usually managed to land on his feet. What, with his war record, he should have died quite a number of times... but then, he was not the only one.

«We've got work to do, as you can imagine,» the petty officer said. «I'll leave a guard at the door, and I'll have to ask you gentlemen not to try to leave this cabin.»

Once again, Biggles nodded. «Naturally. We won't make your job any harder than it already is.»

After that, they were left alone, the door shut tight behind the British officers. A moment of awkward silence followed, only interrupted by an occasional explosion or gunshot that let them know the fight was still going on though slowing down.

«Why...» von Stalhein hesitated, clearly uncomfortable to ask a question he felt he must ask anyway. «Why did you not tell them that I am...» he did not seem to find the word he was looking for.

«German?» suggested Algy, with to his credit only a slight ironic inflexion. «Enemy? Soviet?»

Von Stalhein looked up sharply at the last epithet, seeming to find it somehow insulting – for all that he had not appeared to mind the other two. Then his indignation seemed to settle into resignation and he had a vague movement that expressed any of the terms suggested was an acceptable alternative.

Neither Bertie nor Ginger spoke, feeling that this was not something that really concerned them, so it was Biggles who took it upon him to provide an answer. «I'm not sure what opinion you have of the British in general, but we are not ungrateful. Although it is beginning to feel a little odd for supposed enemies to be turning this into a habit, but we do owe you our freedom, if not our lives. I am willing to extend the same courtesy in return - provided, of course, it harms no innocent.»

Von Stalhein looked torn for a moment between derisive laughter, surprise, and perhaps a touch of bitterness, but the swirl of emotions that ran over his face was gone much too quickly for Algy to analyze it - not that he particularly needed to know what went on in this thick German head.

«You are putting me in an impossible situation,» von Stalhein said finally, in a surprisingly mild voice.

«In my defense, so have you, and more than once,» returned Biggles.

«And I find myself obliged to accept your... generous offer, though I would prefer not to.»

«Well, you don't have to,» Algy said humorously. «Feel free to decline.»

His crack earned him another sour look, of which he had been getting used to the past few days. «No doubt you feel this was meant to be funny,» von Stalhein said dryly.

Algy put on his most innocent expression. «Wasn't it?»

«All right, enough of that,» Biggles cut through them, though he looked like he had a hard time not laughing. That was good, thought Algy. Biggles certainly needed to laugh more.

«I would like to point out,» continued von Stalhein, «that I provided you with a means of escape.»

The amusement gave way to very mild annoyance on Biggles' face. «So you did, no need to remind me. Just leave this up to me. I trusted you not so long ago in a similar fashion, after all.» Seeing the German's surprised look, he added with some sharpness, «What, you thought I was going to help you out through the porthole and ask you to swim to the shore if you could? We're a little more civilized than that, in England.»

Von Stalhein opened his mouth, then thought better of it and said nothing more.

The next few hours were spent in utter and complete boredom, while the battle finally died down. Through the porthole, they could see the sailors of the Lancaster conducting a search through what remained of the _Tuman_, but it seemed that either all hands were dead, or they were trying to make a... well, a swim for it, Algy thought wryly.

«Think Karutchev is dead?» he asked, more to break the oppressive silence than because he really cared.

«I doubt it,» said von Stalhein. «He happens to be a very good swimmer.»

«But the water's fairly cold,» Ginger pointed out.

Von Stalhein gave him a condescending look, one of those that made Algy want to punch him no matter what he might or might not have done for them. «You have obviously never met a Siberian before. The colonel is from Irkutsk, and used to swim in the Angara river even during winter. Or at least, so he boasted.»

«Well good luck to him, if he wants to swim all the way back there,» muttered Ginger with a snort of derision.

Von Stalhein had a strange look. «I would only be half-surprised if he made it,» he said softly. "That man has more ice than blood in his veins."

It took Algy a half-minute to recognize this endeavour to banter, and even then, he was so surprised that he would not have thought of laughing, but von Stalhein did not seem to notice the lack of response his feeble attempt at humour had yielded.

They waited some more, occasionally exchanging a few words, but they were mostly silent. It was only after a while that they were graced with a visit from the skipper of the frigate, a bearded man of medium height with angular though handsome features, who introduced himself pleasantly as captain John Maitland of the Royal Navy.

«I am very pleased to make your acquaintance,» returned Biggles, «and I would like to add you could not have arrived at a better time.»

It was a credit to von Stalhein that he did not utter a sound in protest. Then again, maybe he too had been relieved by this turn of event, that essentially saved him from making an unpleasant choice between two different kinds of honour.

«I gather you're the ones who sent that radio message, is that right?» the skipper asked. «Mister...»

«Inspector James Bigglesworth,» Biggles introduced himself. «And these are constables Lissie, Lacey and Hebblethwaite, and, hum, Eric Sterling.»

Von Stalhein looked less than thrilled with his impromptu introduction, and Algy himself had to bite his lips not to laugh. Still, seeing Biggles lie to protect an enemy was not something that would happen everyday. Biggles had not actually stated that von Stalhein was one of them - but he had implied it, and in a way obvious enough that he would never be able to justify it if he was called on it. Although Raymond might show some understanding...

«Pleased to meet you, gentlemen,» Maitland continued. «In any case, we will have to make some verifications. I expect you won't mind, based on what I've been told.» Biggles nodded in agreement. «Proper identification can be made only when we've got back to port. In the meantime, you will be free to move around, so long as you're escorted each time you leave your quarters.»

«That's more than fair,» Biggles assured him. «Besides, we're not very far from home, are we?»

Maitland nodded. «No, indeed. We're still looking for survivors, though we haven't had any luck so far, and we'll have to patrol around for a while. We'll be back to port tomorrow, most likely. In the meantime, if you need anything, just ask. Within reasonable limits, naturally.»

Biggles thanked him, and they were left alone once again. A little later, a tray of food was brought to them, and they tucked into it with appetite. Not for the first time, Algy was struck how easily von Stalhein became part of their little group, despite Ginger and Bertie's coolness whenever they addressed him. In a way, they understood each other.

They spent most of their time sleeping; they needed it, after everything they had been through. Their bunks were narrow and not really comfy, but they had had much worse, and Algy felt so tired he thought he could have slept on a bed of nails. He slept for twelve hours straight, only woken at some point by someone moving through the cabin - probably going to the bathroom - and when he finally got up, he felt fully rested for the first time since they had crashed on that wretched island.

He found he was the last to get up, and that port was almost in sight. To his undying gratitude, Biggles had saved him a mug of coffee, though it was now lukewarm.

«Finally home,» Bertie sighed contentedly. «You know, there have been times I wasn't so sure we'd make it.»

«It's been a long trip,» added Ginger. «Still up to this holiday you mentioned, Biggles? What about Greece?»

Algy could not keep back a smile at that juvenile enthusiasm. «Plenty of sun,» he pointed out nonetheless. «That would be quite nice.»

«Maybe,» Biggles said noncommittally. «We'll see after we've talked to Raymond.»

«If you let me know which country you pick as your destination, I shall gladly endeavour to avoid it completely for the duration of your stay,» von Stalhein offered wryly.

Another attempt at humour. The four of them really were a bad influence on the man, Algy thought with well-concealed mirth.

«We'll send you a postcard,» Biggles assured von Stalhein, just as deadpan as the other man had been.

Once the _Lancaster_ finally moored, no time was wasted taking them to the office of the commander of the port, where they were made to wait until Raymond could be called. The wait, which at first was supposed to last only ten minutes, ended up taking almost two hours as some formalities had to be taken care of. During that time, Algy made it a point to keep a close eye on Biggles' jacket, in which, oddly enough, von Stalhein did not seem to have any interest any longer. Maybe he had decided to give up on it, but somehow Algy did not believe it.

Finally, a phone call from Raymond helped clear matters, and once it was made clear that Biggles was who he said he was, both the commander of the port and Maitland relaxed completely. It was agreed Raymond would come and get them out of custody himself, and Maitland excused himself, having a number of duties to attend to. The commander of the port offered to bring them a drink, which they accepted gladly.

«If you have some cigarettes, that would be even better,» Biggles requested.

The commander of the port assured them he would see what he could do, and left them to their own devices while he went out to get some.

After he had left, there was a long silence. Algy was sitting next to Biggles, when an idea suddenly crossed his mind.

«How are we going to explain von Stalhein to Raymond?» He murmurred to Biggles. «He's fairly open-minded, but that's going a bit far...»

Biggles had a small smile. «Explain who to Raymond?»

«What...?» Algy frowned and looked around. His perplexity turned to puzzlement, mixed with mild annoyance. «When... how did he do _that_?»

It turned out, von Stalhein was nowhere to be seen. The only one who did not seem surprised, Biggles shrugged. «He slipped out during the phone call, when nobody was paying attention.»

Algy shook his head in wonder. «And I didn't even notice...» a sudden thought crossed his mind and he looked at Biggles' jacket, which had been thrown carelessly on the back of a chair. In two strides, he was beside it and searching through it feverishly. Feeling the smooth surface of paper, he relaxed somewhat, but his relief turned to horror when he realized that instead of being secret schematics, those papers were blank. Now he remembered being woken in the middle of the night by someone walking across the cabin - and certainly not going to the bathroom - and he gave himself a mental kick for not foreseeing something like that. Deathly pale, he turned to Biggles, who strangely enough seemed hardly moved by this unexpected outcome.

«Why did you let him go?» he breathed.

Biggles shrugged. «I said I would. Don't fret, Algy. You don't think I would have let him escape with the papers, do you?»

His legs gave way under his weight and Algy let himself drop more than he sat on the nearest chair, still shaken. Slowly, a smile formed on Biggles' lips, as he withdrew a wad of papers from under his shirt. «I thought he would try something like that.»

«Well, he is like us,» Algy admitted after his heartbeat had steadied somewhat. «Never gives up. But what did you do, exactly? Replaced the papers?»

«Precisely. Bertie had his flyer's jacket, so...»

«I had some maps in my pocket,» Bertie volunteered, «and Biggles exchanged them for the papers when nobody was looking.»

«Sorry I didn't tell you sooner,» Biggles added, «but I couldn't so long as Erich was there, and after that I didn't have a chance.»

«Oh, it's all right. I just nearly had a heart attack,» Algy said wryly. «That being said, I understand.»

Raymond arrived without any new surprises, looking very pleased to see them, though a little concerned when he took in Biggles' still gaunt face and Algy's obvious weariness.

«It seems that once again you will have quite a story to tell,» he said. «And I'm looking forward to hearing it. But first things first. You all look like you could use a good meal.»

«Anything other than coconut and undercooked rabbit will be good for me,» Algy offered.

«I second that,» added Biggles.

«Let's go then, gentlemen. After what you've been through, I think I can offer you lunch,» Raymond said with a smile.

* * *

><p><strong>AN : And here we are ! The end, at last. It's odd, I've been muttering to myself about having to format and correct all these chapters, but I'll miss these updates in the end. **

**For any of you who thinks the end is a little abrupt - well, yes, I suppose it is. Never fear, though, as I have previously mentioned the sequel is underway, although I will make no commitment with regards to a possible publishing date. It will depend on how much time my co-author and I have, for one, and on how long the sequel will prove to be, which is impossible to predict at this time. I can only assure you that it will most definitely be written. We already have, hum, maybe six or seven chapters, based on the number of pages.  
><strong>

**One thing I want to say about von Stalhein ; this story is set only a short while before "Buries the Hatchet" and was meant, in part, to show how he came to regret (to an extent) his commitment with the Soviets, although obviously his honour and pride (and vanity) won't allow him to admit it even to himself, not in so many words. Now, clearly the issues around von Stalhein cannot be fully resolved here since they will be in "Buries the Hatchet", which sets a limit to the evolution and growth of the character. Nonetheless, I felt this was an interesting exercise, and I do love the character (I think my co-author likes Algy better, and we both like Biggles well enough, which is good since it allowed us to balance equally between the points of view of the main protagonists).  
><strong>

**Now, regarding the German used in that chapter...  
><strong>

«_Also, von Stalhein war richtig_» **- "So, von Stalhein was right."**

«_Sie haben uns viele Schwierigkeit verursacht_» **- "You have caused us a lot of trouble."**

«_Aber nicht mehr_.»** - "But no more."**

**I have to warn you that, while I have a basic understanding of German, I have on the other hand little knowledge of its syntax. Any native speaker will probably laugh their heads off reading this. In my defense I fully intend to learn German eventually, and I do love the language (for all that my friends look at me like I'm crazy whenever I say that.)  
><strong>

**We tried to be true to the spirit of the Biggles books and without false modesty, I think we did pretty well. So, I thank you for reading this far, I hope you enjoyed it, and I hope you'll like the sequel as well. A final thanks to all who reviewed, especially "a fan" and "anon" to whom I cannot reply directly, and also Maverick1997.**


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